ENTRY FOR THE PLOT BUNNY CONTEST
Story Name: Peaches
Word Count (not including header/author's note): 9,812
To see other entries in the Plot Bunny Contest, please visit the following C2: (remove the spaces and add another / after http: b/c for some reason ff. net deletes one)
http:/www . fanfiction . net/community/Plot_Bunny_Contest/82048/
Prompt: (it's a picture and this is the link—follow same modifications as above—One Night Only) http:/weheartit . com/entry/3042071
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns any and all Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is the author's original work and property. Copyright 2010 by hyacinthgirl18. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without the author's express written authorization, for that would be plagiarism and, as such, is deeply frowned upon.
I turn to glare at my advanced chemistry partner. "My name is Bella, pronounced just like the letter. It's not too difficult." God, what a jackass. It's the last fucking week of the school year, and he's still calling me Peach or Peaches every time he deems it acceptable to speak to me.
Edward smirks at me, and I wonder if he expects me to swoon so hard I'll fall off of my lab stool. Any other girl would. If I'm being honest, sometimes I actually come close to acting out my mental image, usually when I'm in a fairly oblivious mood and he catches me by surprise.
"So?" he asks. "You don't like your nickname?"
"You don't know me well enough to give me a nickname," I tell him, again. "And Bella is a nickname." This conversation mirrors itself repeatedly whenever he opens his mouth in my direction.
Normally, this is the point at which he'll turn from me with a little knowing smile and I'll fume for the rest of the period wondering what the hell he's so smug about. But today, he turns to face me further on his stool and I copy him, surprised and open to seeing where this deviates to. Changes in our routine are few and far between, but… usually interesting, at least.
"But everyone calls you Bella. Peach is special. We've been lab partners all year, so I know a bit about you. And, even if I don't know you well enough by your standards, I'd like to." The sound of his words sweeps over my skin like leaves in the fall, natural and beautiful and distracting as they whirl along down the street in the wind.
"What?" I ask, staring at him once more.
Edward grins at me, his elbow coming to rest on the table as his left hand drops to his kneecap between us. He leans his head against his right fist and looks me over. His gaze is so heavy I actually imagine I can feel it against the skin of my waist. I fight back a full-body shiver.
Holy hell, no wonder all the girls sleep with him so quickly. He's totally mastered the art of melting us, with that voice and those eyes and his words and the pretty, pretty lips under his twice-broken nose and hair that defies all polite rules of the hair society…
I decide I like the way he's paying attention to me now. I wish he'd done so long before.
"Are you going to Mike and Jessica's joint party tonight?" he asks, politely ignoring my brainless query. "It's the last before all the grad parties hit next weekend."
"Uh…" My usual negative answer crawls up my throat to the tip of my tongue before I catch it and shove it back down. Is he going? If he is, I might make an appearance, mostly to ogle from a corner and gossip with Kate. "Maybe. Depends on what else is going on," I answer instead of the simple 'no.'
What about you? I want to ask. Are you going?Please tell me,please.I'll decide when I know about you. Why the fuck else would I go anyway? Why the fuck else would you ask if I was going?
"From what I've heard, it's slim pickings." He shrugs, glancing up toward the front of the classroom. It's finals week for the rest of the school, but we seniors took ours early so our grades and clearance cards could be signed and turned in before graduation. The class chats amicably, excited for the summer, and college after that, and real life outside of this glass cage—the cage perched on the edge of the counter just waiting to be pushed off to shatter and free the anxious specimens inside. Mr. Banner ignores us all, talking with another student at the front of the room.
"Oh," I say noncommittally. He still isn't looking at me. Maybe our conversation is over. Fine. Doesn't bother me one bit. I turn around on my stool, bending over to pick up my backpack and retrieve my iPod, but I almost jump off when I feel his fingers softly brush along the sensitive strip of skin showing between my jeans and shirt.
I sit up again, slowly, and look over at him. His eyes are trained on my face; he's leaning toward me, his hand braced on the edge of my stool, so very close to my thigh now. It seems to hum with energy, his hand, his face, his body in such close quarters. I wish I could actually breathe right now so I could smell him, but I'm frozen in his grasp.
"I don't often see you out and about, Peach. I think tonight's the night you should vary your routine. I'll change mine if you change yours."
My eyes widen as electric energy travels down my spine, through my nerves, until it's brushing just under my skin, everywhere, alive and lethal and thrilling. He lifts his eyebrows quickly before bringing them back down to rest above his intense eyes. It's a challenge.
"Fine, I'm in," I blurt before I can think better of it.
Edward smiles victoriously, removing his hand and drawing back to his side of the table before he pulls out a pencil and a yellow legal notepad.
I watch him for a moment as he begins doodling aimlessly, stunned, and finally pull my iPod out, turning it up to drown out my now-panicking thoughts. I'll let myself be distracted by 'Raw Sugar' and ignore the gorgeous boy sitting to my right. I can't afford to freak out about what this might mean.
At least, not until I see him later.
I kind of have a theory.
It goes like this: when they enter high school, the boys of our town make a pact. By the end of the summer after graduation, every single person in their class will have had the opportunity to lose their virginity. I've since wondered if they'd written out a list of names and passed it around for the guys to lay claim to certain girls first.
In all honesty, it's a little bit of a kindness. It does, at least, prevent that awkward hump in college some people have to get over. You know, so you could just enjoy sex and relationships in college and real life instead of worrying about losing your virginity. The boys here had, gallantly, covered it for you.
I've had three guys proposition me.
Sophomore year, Mike Newton propositioned me during French II. He thought he was being smooth by doing it in the world's most 'romantic' language. I'd turned him down because he was gurgling at me and I could barely understand him anyway.
Halfway through junior year, Jacob Black had asked me out. We'd gone to the movies, to dinner, hung out a few times, made out, fondled a little… and then he'd asked to go all the way. I'd told him I'd think about it and we continued fooling around. Finally, after about six months together, it'd happened. Goodbye, hymen; hello, summer of sex. But then I found out his family was moving away, so it had been a stupid decision because I'd become emotionally attached. I figured out later that I was more attached before the sex, just hysterical over losing a friend and the awesome feeling of a shared orgasm.
By the time Alec Sena asked me senior year, I was curious to know how many guys had circled my name on the list I imagined had been passed around at the end of eighth grade or beginning of freshman year. At least Jake had the decency to take me out and get to know me first, rather than walking up on the first day of school and point blank telling me to meet him in the janitor's closet during third period to fuck.
Yeah, no, I'd punched Alec and wound up footing his hospital bill for the broken nose. My dad was rather pleased with my reasoning for that one, so I hadn't even gotten in trouble.
I'm sure that tonight, I'll get my fourth offer. Except this time, it's from someone I actually want. Edward Masen. God yes. My world might flip over tonight.
At least, that's what I assume as I get ready.
It's a well-known fact that Edward is a one-night-only kind of guy. He isn't begrudged this, because, in a town this tiny, the teenagers are well aware that sex is pretty much the only distraction from the monotony of school, work, friends, school, church, work, friends. They've mastered the art of fucking, and, from what I observe, do it because they're bored with the rest of their lives.
Edward's a good distraction from boredom, if one listens to locker room talk or the gossip chain.
I guess I'll find out tonight whether it's true or not. To be honest, I'm hoping to find out, though, judging by the snakes coiling in my belly, the whole idea of it makes me nervous. After all, it's been a while since Jake moved, and it's not like I've kept in practice with anyone else. Rumor has it Edward doesn't leave a girl wanting, in any way, which makes me wonder how uncomfortable I'll be tomorrow, what the ache will feel like again.
Kate and Garrett, her boyfriend of two years, agree to pick me up at my house around nine-thirty. My parents think I'm going to the movies with them before we come back to Kate's, where we'll be staying the night. They don't mind. They trust me and school doesn't start tomorrow until midday for seniors, because all we have is graduation practice.
And, really, I think my mom would rather me be with Edward Masen than sitting at home rereading The Deathly Hallows anyway, as long as we're safe. Dad's a different story, so I'm sure she's helped make my excuse believable. She's got my back here, my mother.
Part of the reason I never go 'out' is that I never know what to wear. Jeans are my standard, but most girls wear skirts or dresses in the hopes that it'll draw the guys to them, not to mention flaunt their easy-access. Usually I scoff at them, but tonight I'm taking a page from their little black books. Hence the brown dress hanging over my desk chair and the black thigh-high stockings already half-pulled up.
My phone buzzes steadily on my bed and I rush forward to snag the dress, yanking it down over my hair and grabbing my phone and chapstick to deposit in my bra. I shove my feet into the calf-high boots Kate bought me for Christmas before bounding down the stairs.
"Bye, Mom, Dad! Love you!"
"Keep your phone on and be safe!" my dad yells back as my mother calls, "Have fun, honey!"
Smiling at their differing responses, I fly out the front door, jumping the porch steps and stumbling a little as I reach for the rear passenger door of the white car in my driveway.
"Hey," I huff as I fall into my seat. "Sorry about the wait."
Kate turns in the front seat to look me over. "Damn, Bella, you'd look good if you weren't investing in Edward Masen's hair style. I know you want him tonight, but you don't have to look like him."
"What?" I lean forward over her shoulder to pull down the visor and check my hair. "Oh, fuck, give me a brush."
Garrett laughs as he backs out of the driveway. "It's kind of good, actually. Gives guys the impression that you've just been thoroughly fucked, which makes them want to give you a try."
I snort as Kate smacks his arm.
Garrett ends up taking us to the diner to have dinner before the party, which basically means he pays for a chocolate milkshake for me and a plate of fries for Kate. I never pass up milkshakes, especially when I don't have to pay.
We occupy our booth in the corner until ten-fifteen before unfolding ourselves and heading back to the car to drive to Jessica's house on the other side of town. It's a little intimidating to arrive. I can see Katie cackling wildly against the tree in the front yard while Tyler rolls on the grass at her feet, a small red cherry in the dark the only visible sign of the blunt they're sharing. Mike stumbles around out front with a beer in hand, shooing people back into the house or to the back yard. The bass from the music is audible already, and I groan. That it's this bad at the beginning... I can't even imagine it after another hour has passed.
What the hell does Edward Masen find interesting about this shit, anyway? Is he really such a cliché? Honestly, I think half the reason he's so appealing is that he seems more alluring than the Department of Mysteries had to Harry Potter. That may have been because we rarely have a true unscripted conversation. And I may have actually once admitted to Kate that bad boys turned me on, and mysterious guys, and guys with nice hands—all character traits of Edward. I must have given more credit than deserved though, because it now appears that he's the stereotypical high school boy interested in getting crunk and screwing some lucky girl's brain out.
Still, I half-hope I'm the lucky girl tonight, maybe the last of his high school career. That would be a title I had no problem claiming for my own: Bella Swan, the Last Girl Edward Masen Ever Fucked in High School.
Unless some bitch went down on him during graduation practice tomorrow, or he took someone in a janitor's closet on the morning of the ceremony. That would suck—maybe literally.
I sigh as Kate and I step out of the car, leaving Garrett to find a safe parking space around the corner and down the street. We wait on the sidewalk, waving to the other partygoers and talking about our expectations for the night. I spend most of the conversation covertly searching for Edward's tall, lean form and playing with the bottom of my dress.
Jane Sena, Alec's younger sister, finds us waiting for Garrett to return. She hugs us each, smiling shyly. Kate had been her babysitter when she was younger, and she hero-worships me for breaking Alec's nose. Siblings are funny creatures, I've decided.
She's still with us, hovering anxiously away from the boys playing tackle on the front lawn, when Garrett returns, laughing at something Emmett Cullen is saying. My stomach jumps a little, playing hopscotch between my bounding heart and the excited fluttering below. Emmett spent four years being courted by the football coach at school because of his size, but he'd turned him down every year, preferring to teach the summer and fall youth soccer leagues with his dad. He's a cool guy, though we've rarely spoken to each other.
The only reason I'm interested in his presence is that it's usually followed by Edward's. Sure enough, as I crane my neck to see around Kate and over Garrett's shoulder, I see the light from the party glinting off of Edward's hair.
Garrett breaks off from them and heads toward us. I lean back behind Jennie to watch Edward and Emmett jump up the steps to the front door. Edward pauses under the porch light and glances over his shoulder. Our gazes meet and hold for a moment before he lifts his eyebrows and smirks at me. He's gone a second later, his black t-shirt disappearing into a crowd of people.
I swallow harshly and turn back to my friends, flushing when I find them all gaping at me.
"Bella, if you're just going to lust after him all night and drown us out, maybe you should just go do what you so obviously want to. Licking him from head to toe is probably more fun than staring and wishing you were," Jane ventures.
They all laugh at my expense, and I sneer at Kate. "I wouldn't go all the way to his toes, bitch. I'd be happy to stop halfway down his body, where I'm sure he'd have the most fun too."
Garrett slings an arm around my shoulders and starts to walk me inside, leaving the giggling bitches behind us. "You'll be fine, Bella, just don't freak out. Act normal." I snort, and he grins down at me. "I know, it'll be hard to fake it, but you have to try anyway if you want your mouth anywhere near Edward Masen or any of his parts. Now, go get me a beer, will you?"
I groan again, pushing away from him. "I'm not your girlfriend. I bet she'd be happy to get you a beer, but the only reason I'm going to the kitchen is to get one for myself."
"Fine," he sniffs, turning me loose. "See if I do you any more favors."
'1977' by Ana Tijoux breaks over the stereo system as I walk in, grinning at Jessica as a hello. Though I don't really care to understand the Spanish lyrics, I like the song well enough. Like most Latin songs, it makes me want to dance or grind up against somebody. Preferably Edward.
I wind through the people, listening to the laughter and chatter and panting and music, feeling the music in my feet and the pads of my fingers and my hips. Halfway through the center of the party, I feel his gaze on me and pause, staring around as I try to locate him. I'm suddenly in the eye of the storm, everything around me fading but the beat in my bones and the fire racing through my veins as I find my mark.
He's leaning against the wall, nursing a beer thoughtfully and staring at me with those intense eyes, hooded by shadows and lust. I've never understood how he can appear so passionate when he's only been living eighteen years. Those eyes are the kind I read about in the smutty books my mother leaves lying on the kitchen counter. They light me up from the inside out, my body responding to a simple touch of his gaze as if his fingers are running just under the edge of my skirt between my stockings and my thighs. I want his fingers there, higher, everywhere. Just on me.
Edward tips his beer at me in a salute and shrugs away from the wall. I swallow harshly and begin moving again, keeping to my original path toward the kitchen. Fuck if I need liquid courage. Or something to make my knees stop shaking and my thighs stop pressing. I really want to dance up against him right now. Like, crazy want. I blame the music. And his hands. Maybe his shapely hips.
Tanya and Irina are manning the buckets near the fridge. I grin in relief. "Hey, Ta, 'Rina. Can I get a Smirnoff Ice Triple Black?"
Tanya jumps over the bucket to hug me. I laugh and embrace her. They'd graduated last year, but we'd been great friends before. Now they're roommates in the city, probably home to watch their cousin graduate with us this year. "Isabella Swan!"
Irina rolls her eyes, shaking her head even as she smirks at me. "What are you doing here? I don't recall you coming out often and doubt you've changed much." Irina has always been blunt, something I love about her even though it often leaves me flustered. There's never any guessing required in our friendship.
I flush and look over my shoulder after Tanya lets me go, checking our company. Ta gasps and her hands fly to cover her mouth. Dramatic to the last. "No way!"
Irina stares at her for a moment before her mouth drops open too. "Oh my fucking God. You and… who?" Her gaze turns shrewd. "Who are you out to devour tonight, mon amie?"
I shake my head, smiling as my not-so-secret sings through my bloodstream as I recall the heated look he had sent my way just moments ago. "Are you going to give me my drink?"
She scoffs, calls me a brat in French, and digs through ice in the proper bucket for my drink. "There. Now don't come back for another unless you're willing to spill details. Because keeping them to yourself is a bitchy thing to do," she scolds.
I laugh and reach out to hug her over the buckets, carefully keeping the cold bottle from the bare skin of her back. "Edward Masen," I whisper in her ear.
Irina's eyes remind me of an anime character as they widen in a laughable way and Ta immediately leans in to ask what I'd said as I walk away.
The lime-flavored alcohol hits my throat and instantly cools my face down. Though the dress I'm wearing is sleeveless and ends mid-thigh, all of the partiers dancing throughout the house have upped the heat to an almost uncomfortable level, and my flush from the look Edward had given me had done the rest.
Felix Respin and Chelsea Whitnox stand nearest the kitchen table—they pause to wave at me before going back to their verbal foreplay. I pout. I want foreplay. Now.
Horny slut, my mind chides. I shrug it off with another swig from my bottle.
Kate, Garrett, and the rest of the group have finally made their way inside. As expected, Kate and Garrett are in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, grinding away to something I recognize vaguely. I laugh and make my way to them, jumping through the chorus and wondering where the hell my nightly-grinding partner is. I hope he hasn't chosen some other bitch, because I will take no little pleasure from cutting her if he has.
Fucker better find me soon or I'm going to explode, and it will not be pretty.
Tingles creep up my spine, starting somewhere in the vicinity of the bottom of my dress, on the backs of my thighs, before rising slowly, the way water rolls to a boil. By the time it reaches my shoulders, I have casually turned while swinging my hips around, letting the electric feeling travel down the length of my front again, reveling in the sensations it brings to life.
Edward is making his way through the bodies toward me, and I keep my gaze locked on his the entire journey, until he stands inches away, his hands almost roughly closing around my waist to turn me so my back is pressed against him.
Oh, God, to be touched by him. He's warm, smooth but hard, and he smells like alcohol, cinnamon, and sweat.
"I like your dress, Peach," he mouths against the hot skin of my neck.
I shudder and press myself back against him. "Bet you'd like it better on the floor," I tease, nudging against him.
He laughs a little, and I frown. That hadn't been the reaction I was trying for. I wanted more of the 'fuck yes, let's leave already or I'll take you on the floor' response. "Take it easy, girl, we've got all night. And believe me, it will definitely meet the floor later if I have anything to say about it. For now, just feel."
Is this his version of foreplay? I wonder if I should tell him I'm ready and rearing to go, then decide it wouldn't make any difference to him. This is his game tonight, and I'm a willing player as long as we both win later.
It feels so strange to be surrounded by him—his heat, his scent, his voice, his body. Everything else fades to grays while he shines a bright red behind me, his warm glow highlighting the lines of my own body, sharing himself and all that he is with me in this solitary moment. I feel his equal here as we dance, my nerves shot to hell by either my now-empty Smirnoff bottle, still clutched in my fist, or the almost familiar way his hands feel around my waist and on my hip.
He is strong and potent, and I am both beautiful and seductive in his arms, powerful. It makes me feel as if he's simply catering to my needs instead of taking advantage of me to get lucky, as if he's just as physically attracted to me as I am to him. I don't feel like a silly teenage girl anymore, but more like the object of this man's desire. He makes me want it more than I ever have before, just by raking his knuckles up my ribs before running them back down to my thigh and curling his fingers around it.
His face is buried against my neck, one of my hands clutching his on my waist and the other running through his damp hair. Our hips undulate together in the semi-darkness, one creature separated only by thin barriers of cloth.
I don't count the number of songs during which we stick to one another; I don't care. Edward had stranded us in the isolation of eternity the moment his skin contacted mine.
"You taste like lime," he breathes against my ear. "It's the wrong fruit."
I shiver against him and pull back, panting slightly, running my tongue over my swollen bottom lip. "It was the Smirnoffs," I tell him, letting my hands fall from his soft hair.
He grins at me and leans forward to press his lips lightly against mine; even this small contact after our heavy activity before sends an excited zing through my body.
"Why do you call me Peach, anyway?" I ask as I lean back against the wall in our corner of the kitchen, trying to regain perspective. I'm not sure I can handle anymore of his kisses right now—he tastes too good, knows too well how to use his tongue with mine. The intensity between us is dangerous, a lightning storm ready and waiting to spark destructive wildfires at any second.
He's pressed against me, a beer in one hand and strands of my hair still wrapped in the other.
He smiles that smile I've memorized, the one that seems to mock me for not knowing, the one smugly protecting his secret as he shakes his head. "I'll tell you later. I only spill after."
I laugh at his implication and lift an eyebrow. "It's not so you don't forget my name during the sex, then? Because that's what I've always thought pet names were about."
He snorts into his beer. "Charming."
I shrug and reach for his hand, using it to pull the beer to my lips. He watches me with heavy eyes and I slowly release him, licking my lip a little as the cool liquid runs down my throat. I really do hate beer. "Isn't it true, though?"
Edward rolls his eyes and looks over his shoulder. "Okay, you see that girl, the one in the pink sweater?" he asks, pointing with his bottle. I glance over at her, recognizing her as Claire Daniels.
"I call her Alligator, Alli for short." I snort, but shut up when he shoots me a semi-amused, semi-cautious look. "Because she was wearing alligator-skin heels when she propositioned me."
"Do you know her real name?" I ask, getting more comfortable against the wall and inadvertently pushing my hips further into his. I watch, fascinated, as he swallows and his throat moves sensuously. I've never thought a throat could be sexy.
"Starts with a C, I think, or a K. See her?" Edward gestures at Heidi Forsenski. "She's Pillows, because her bed is covered in them and her boobs were soft."
One of my eyebrows rises. "So why am I Peach, then? How does my name make sense? And I thought you only nicknamed the sluts you nailed or planned to nail, so why me, even back at the beginning of the year?"
"You do know you're obligated to include yourself in the slut category after tonight, don't you? By your standards, anyway," he points out, avoiding the question and smirking again, pressing forward until he's flush against me, the rest of our bodies aligned. His thighs are muscular against my own soft ones, his stomach flat and toned, his chest firm and wide. And then there's the hard-on pressing into my abdomen. He feels… like I'll definitely enjoy myself later.
"Yeah," I breathe, staring up at his face. This close, I'm not so intimidated by his beauty. The closer he seems to get to me, the less room there is for my awkwardness to seep into the empty spaces between us.
"I'll tell you why I chose Peach later, then, if you still want to know," he promises, reaching behind him to place the empty beer onto the table with the rest of the party-fare. Edward glances over his shoulder once before he turns back to me, his hand landing on the wall next to my neck.
I breathe in deeply and reach up to place my hand lightly on his chest. His heart beats steadily under it, speeding up with my own as I lift myself to my tip toes. "So where do I earn the right to know about my nickname?" I ask him softly, pressing my nose into his neck and letting my eyelashes flutter gently against his skin.
I'm rewarded with a shiver and smile triumphantly. He's as helpless to this longing as I am. And fuck it, maybe he's this way, this intense, with all the girls he has sex with; maybe he's just eager to get in my pants—or skirt, as the situation has it. But that he would react to me this strongly puts me in their ranks; even if I'm not above them, I'm their equal now.
"Not here—I can't stand the thought of some asshole walking in and interrupting. When I take you, I want you to myself.'
I press my legs together, helpless to it, pulling back to meet his hungry gaze. The gold sparks around his irises glint and transform into full flames, the pupils dilating into smoky gravitational magnets. I'd struck the timber, the lightning had hit, and the wildfire is spreading from his body to mine.
"You're all talk and no action right now," I finally manage to prompt. "How do I know you mean what you say?"
Edward smirks and pushes himself against me, his fingers tightening until they dig into my skin. "Can't you feel my honesty?"
A little before twelve-thirty, Edward takes my hand in his and starts to drag me back through the party. The thought of dancing with him again feeds the inferno in my soul, but I don't think I can take it anymore. I want Edward, now. I've played his game, and it's finally time for him to dole out the prizes.
Thankfully, he seems to realize this isn't the time for more dancing; instead, he's leading me to the front door. I wave at Jane as we pass her, and she stares after me in awe. The girl will probably want to be me after this.
I will probably want to be me after this, for the first time since I began to notice my feminine body and became self-conscious of it. There's nothing to boost a girl's confidence like the interest of a beautiful boy, and this boy is the most beautiful of all. Could be the lust talking, though.
"Peach, now's the time to back out if you think you'll want to at any point tonight."
I grin at him when he looks over his shoulder to gauge my reaction. "I'm not backing out, and you better not either."
Edward laughs, the sound excited and confident and sexy enough to pull one of my stockings down on its own. "You wanna wait while I get my car or come with?"
"I'll go with you," I blurt. I don't want him slipping away from me, not when I have him exactly where I want him. Or almost exactly. Soon to be exactly.
He nods, almost approvingly, but lets my hand go as he climbs down the porch stairs and heads into the darkness. I walk next to him, and the silence carries the nerves of hundreds of thousands of women from the past who had been in this situation before me, the I-know-it's-coming-(and-hopefully-so-will-I) stress of the moment.
I feel the need to speak, just to fill the silence, but I roll my tongue back anxiously, worried any rambling will kill his less-than-honorable intentions.
His car is parked down two blocks, shining black under the illumination of a streetlight. As expected, he doesn't go to open my door. This isn't a date, but more of a meeting or arrangement.
Still, I'm getting in his car—Edward Masen's car. We're driving to his house—Edward Masen's house. And, I'm positive, we're going to have sex in his bed—Edward Masen's bed.
Holy fuck. I really hope I don't die before we get there. Spontaneous combustion is a legitimate worry. I wonder if he's into necrophilia.
What the fuck does sex do to my brain?
I watch his hands on the steering wheel. They're hands that could be sculpted and immortalized, that should be sculpted and immortalized. Suddenly I desire to work with clay and mold them. They'd never have the draw his real hands do, with the sparse bronze hairs on the backs, the little lines that weave his life story, the calluses from who-knows-what, but they would symbolize and remind me of the night I had sex with him and watched his hands as he drove us to the place.
"Do you play an instrument?" I ask before I mentally bitch-slap myself. Hadn't I just sworn I wasn't going to talk and disrupt us?
He smirks at me. "No. Why?"
"No reason," I hurriedly assure him.
"There had to be a reason to ask," he prods, grinning full out now. He lives to irritate me, apparently.
"Just the… your hands," I say, shrugging idiotically. "I was just curious."
He glances at them. "I garden."
My brow furrows. It doesn't fit with his smug personality—it seems more docile than I'd ever imagined him to be, which is why it had never occurred to me. He might be lying, yanking my chain. I kind of deserve it for butting into his business. Then again, those hands will be all over me later and I want to know how they came to feel the way they do.
"Do you play an instrument?"
I laugh, shaking my head. "Um, no. I used to play violin, in sixth grade, but I poked another kid in the face one too many times with the bow, so they kicked me out of orchestra."
Edward's head falls back as he laughs, and I decide I'll do anything if he continues to make that sound. The feelings it brings about in me are new, thrilling, and I love them. But then I recall that tonight is our only night—he is, after all, Edward Masen, and our futures most likely aren't headed in the same direction anyway. Even if he feels every electrical tingle that I do, our protons and electrons aren't destined to stay together. We'll become ions soon enough and this compound will break; like many before it, our connection is brief and tenuous, satisfying a common need. Still, for now, we are magnetic and I'll enjoy that to the fullest extent while I can.
"Lost in memories of taking eyes out?"
His voice is gentle as it disrupts my thoughts, easing me from them instead of startling me. "Hmmm?"
"You stopped asking questions and you were frowning. I'm not used to our conversations ending with your voice," he teases.
"Hey, that's just because you like to get in the last word and I feel bad for you because you obviously can't control your hair—at least this way you can control something, even if it is just a conversation."
Nice, very smooth. I'm sure he loves it when the girls he intends to fuck insult him. Damn it.
But he's laughing again, and I'm smiling, and it's automatic, this thing between us, even if he does annoy me to the point of snapping at him.
"There you are. Welcome back, Peaches, I missed you."
It's my turn to giggle. "Awww, now just imagine what'll happen to your brain after graduation. Without me around to keep it sharp and provide insults, you'll get way too cocky and forget how to use it for things other than getting girls."
Edward purses his lips and turns his eyes from me. "Right." There's a slight pause, and I wonder if I'd offended him before he smirks and mutters, "But at least there's the getting girls part to rejoice about."
Now it's my turn to pause. "Uh-huh. That's always important," I murmur, looking out the window as we turn onto his street. I've never been to his house, but my calculus partner lived across the street and I'd recognized his shiny car and his mom's stunning hair color, so I know where he lives anyway.
I've inserted the space between us again, started the electrolysis prematurely, and it's slowly filling with the awkwardness that seems to seep from my pores and my poorly-chosen words. Why had I said anything about other girls? Why had I said I'd be out of his life after graduation?
Because it's true, I remind myself forcefully. Enjoy it while it lasts.
We pull up the curb in front of his house, and I notice all of the lights are off. I wonder if his parents have gone to bed; it's just before one by the clock in his car, and I expect mine are already snoring lightly next to each other.
"My parents are at a dental conference in Seattle for the night," he says as turns the key in the ignition. "For my mom's job or something."
Oh, goodie. The house to ourselves. Why had I been so excited about this fifteen minutes ago? Oh, yeah, because I was going to have sex with him and there was no heaviness in the air back then.
"How often do they go to the conventions?" I ask as I step out of the car onto the sidewalk.
"Once or twice a year for the big ones, and whenever the small ones come up. I go with them sometimes, just to get out of town, but they didn't want me going this time because I'd have missed 'my last few precious days of high school'—at least, according to my mother," he tells me as he rounds the car, twirling his keys in his hands. The streetlight down two houses turns his hair into liquid brass as a breeze ruffles through it.
He reaches out as we walk across his front yard and wraps his pinky finger around mine, a small bond that instantly puts me at ease again.
"What time do you need to get home?" he asks as he unlocks the front door.
"Erm… I don't really have a curfew tonight, because Kate's taking me to school tomorrow, but I told her about two," I admit, following him inside. He flips on the light nearest us, and I glance around curiously while he drops his keys into a glass bowl on the table and locks the door behind us. I take the chance to take my phone and chapstick out of my bra, setting the items on the table next to his keys. He slips his shoes off and I copy.
"Come on, let's go upstairs."
I trail him tentatively up the steps, my nerves like wires transporting the electrical current originating from his fingers straight up to the roots the hair on my neck, which respond much like my hair does to static.
Our breathing is the only sound in the quiet hallway. He hasn't turned on the light here, so I blindly follow his darkened silhouette and the tentative link of our pinkies. Edward pulls me into the second room on the left side of the hallway, letting me go and crossing the room to turn on the light at his desk. He leans over the dark wood to scroll through his iPod before setting it into the docking station and filling the room with the opening chords of Saving Abel's 'Addicted.'
I nervously fiddle with the edge of my dress again as he turns to stare at me, crossing his arms. "Come here," he says softly.
My feet move of their own accord, the tension thickening between us with each step. The gap between our heights, larger without my boots, makes my heart race in my chest, thumping loudly against my rib cage. I'm sure that if it weren't for the bones, my heart would be on the floor at his feet, fluttering about feebly until he picked it up.
His hand rises to brush the side of my neck, and I sigh, leaning into him as everything dissolves. I remember why I'm here, how his skin feels against mine, the way my body craves him.
"Your skin's so soft," he mutters, and then his lips are on me where his hand had just been, warm and smooth and gentle, his tongue warm and smooth and wet when it traces the edge of my jaw.
The moan that ghosts out of my body doesn't embarrass me, nor does his free hand as it rises to my shoulder, playing with the strap of my dress. The fire of his touch torches every hesitant emotion, lighting the fuses of the reactions he and I both want—the sounds rising from my throat, the goosebumps lifting all along my body, the way I press further into his form for optimum contact.
When I'm with him like this, I don't feel as if I'm with the annoying lab partner I still barely like. Our bodies know each other even if our minds don't, and, from the ease with which we move, know each other well.
I lift his face to mine, pulling his bottom lip between mine as my hands twine into his hair, my leg wrapping around his calf, my hips molding to his. It's sensuous, slow, and I feel more alive than I ever have before, more beautiful than I knew I was capable of being. "Edward," I whisper against his mouth.
He quiets the rest of my words by pressing his tongue against mine, and we are tasting again, tangled, caught in the reactions we coax from each other. He pushes forward into me, and I reluctantly unwind my leg and walk backwards with him until my thighs hit the high edge of his mattress. His hands slide from my neck to my waist, lifting me easily, before he moves to stand between my legs, his thumbs smoothing small circles over my dress as it rises to reveal the edges of my stockings.
"Shit," he whispers as he glances down at them before his eyes move back to mine, dark with passion and shadows. "Can I—?"
I take one of his hands in mine and guide it down to the top of my stocking. His fingers dip between the material and my skin, running lightly over soft flesh, the calluses rough and yet gentle against me. I shudder and his other hand joins the first, one on each side of my thigh, slowly pulling the stocking down to my knee.
"Lift your leg for me," he orders quietly, taking the opportunity to draw it all the way down, over my calf, my ankle, the arch of my foot. He leans forward to kiss the inside of my knee, and I clench the material of his bedspread in my fists, listening to what I imagine as the hum of our energy as it races up my leg. The intensity almost drowns out the music in the background.
He repeats the action with my other stocking, moving his kiss up to the inside of my thigh instead. The muscles in my legs tighten, and he runs a hand soothingly over my skin, moving in to kiss my mouth again, guiding me backwards onto the bed. He crawls up over me, one knee between mine, his arms braced by my neck. There's too much space between our bodies. "Come here," I echo, pulling him down to me by the collar of his shirt.
Edward's weight on me doesn't feel as I expected it to. With Jake, I had always felt trapped under his heaviness, stranded and at his mercy. Now, the compelling connection between Edward and me seems to comfort instead, igniting our lust. It pulls our bodies together, aligning us perfectly—his arms under me cradling my shoulders as my own explore the tight contours of his back, our chests pressed together, my thighs rubbing against the denim of his jeans between them.
My back arches as his hips rolled purposefully into mine. "Oh," I sigh, my fingers tightening in his shirt and slowly dragging it up. His mouth breaks away for a moment as the material slides between us, but then he's back, and his skin is so hot and smooth and defined over long muscles.
He moves his hands down to my waist again, pulling me with him as he rolls onto his back until I'm straddling his thighs, my hands braced on his stomach. "Raise your arms," he coaxes gently, lifting his hands to the material of my dress where it bunches at the top of my legs. I swallow and do as he said, closing my eyes and tensing as the cooler air hits my skin while the silky material glides up my body, his fingers trailing purposefully after it, warm and coarse against me. I shudder as they pass over my ribs, drawing in a ragged breath.
My hair falls down to brush against my back as the dress finally makes it off, and I breathe deeply to keep myself calm, feeling his eyes on me and wondering what he sees, what he likes or doesn't, what he thinks about me—
I gasp as his hands close on my hips, pulling me up his body. The button of his jeans passes under me and I tense against him, wanting to grind into it again and again. "God," he breathes, and I can feel him sitting up under me. I start when his mouth lands against the swell of my breast, and relax into him immediately, my hands tracing their way up his arms to his shoulders.
"Peach," he whispers before lightly dragging his teeth over me.
My eyes flutter frantically against the feeling as I pull his face to mine again, pressing into him aggressively. He meets me, kissing me with equal abandon, fierce and gentle as one, like his fingers as they smoothly unclasp my bra. It slides down my torso before he pulls it from between us, flinging it onto the floor over the bed.
"You're wearing t-too much," I stutter as he drags his palms around my ribs.
"Shhh," he soothes, his thumbs passing over sensitive flesh. "What is it with you and trying to get your clothes off around me? Like I said earlier—just feel. I want you to feel me, my hands on you—do you feel this, Peach?"
I moaned as his fingers sweep across my skin, my head falling back. "Oh, God, yes."
"Do you like it?" He repeats his actions, and once again I respond in the same way. "This is what I want you to focus on. Don't think about undressing me, just enjoy the way I'm touching you, the feel of my fingers against your skin… the heat of my mouth against your neck…"
"Edward, please," I whisper as his tongue darts out again to taste me. My hands creep up his stomach to his chest, where I doodle aimlessly, copying the patterns his fingers are tracing over me.
"Shhh, no more talking now."
I kiss him, hard, wanting him to feel what I do. My hips grind into his without my permission, as if conscious choice has been suspended for the moment and my body is in control. It does whatever it wants, rolling over Edward as the waves of the ocean break on the rocks, powerful and unstoppable and constant in rhythm.
He groans into my mouth, and his hands slide down to toy with the strings of my thong, dipping under the sides and running teasingly over my ass, taunting me.
"I want you," he breathes, using his grip on my hips to pull me into him, arching up against me from below.
I pant and push him back on the bed. "Be still," I command quietly as I move down his body to his jeans, running my hand over the button and glancing up at him. His gaze is green and mesmerizing, his thoughts clear in the depths. My pulse leaps as I push the button through the hole and my hands find his zipper.
He lifts his hips off of the bed to help me as I begin tugging his jeans down. I swallow harshly at the shape outlined in his boxer briefs, pulling the pants more forcefully until I'm sitting at his feet and they're off, until I can climb back up and kiss him just above the waistline of his underwear, my hair falling around us to tickle his skin.
At the slight contact, his stomach clenches and he sits up, pulling me into him and rolling us over until I'm under him again, and he's lined up with me through our remaining clothes, and I moan as he presses into me again. "Now?"
"Yes," I whisper.
His heat disappears for a moment before he returns with a small square in his hands. I watch, fascinated and excited, my heart racing as his hands tear it open. Edward looks at me again, his gaze tracing the lines of my face before falling to my torso, trailing down to my thong, running down my legs before lifting again. His hands are soft but insistent as they pull at the strings around my hips; I shudder as the cool air hits damp skin and wait impatiently for him to shoot it across the room, studying him as he reaches for his own underwear.
I suck in a breath of air as he pushes the black material from his hips, staring as he rolls the condom over himself. God, he's beautiful, and I'm hypnotized, and he's touching me and crawling up my body again, dropping kisses the way some people sprinkle confetti during celebrations, and this is a celebration to rival all before it as his hands press against me, slick and firm and amazing.
"Peach," he whispers as he reaches my face again. "Help me."
Shakily, I reach down to touch him, running my fingers from base to tip, feeling hot and hard and rubber before I guide him to me, coating him in me and pressing him to where we both want him most.
Slowly, carefully, he pushes into me, and I arch against him, and we are one, together, joined in every way. Our skin slides against each other, our hands finding purchase on shoulders and chests and necks and in hair and on hips. My legs wrap around him, holding him to me as his hips pump against mine, the connection strengthening with each pull and return, getting deeper and becoming more. His name falls from my lips when they aren't attached to his stifling warmth—his jaw, his pulse point, his face, his mouth.
"Shit," he breathes against my neck. "Holy shit."
Oh, God, he feels it too. He has to feel it. This isn't just sex—it isn't love, it definitely isn't—but we aren't two beings anymore. I wonder if we ever have been. This is something more, something profound, and it can't end. I never want it to end. If we could hang right here, suspended in time just like this, our skin melting into each other, I would be satisfied. I'd never want for anything else.
"Edward," I gasp, incoherent. It's too intense, and I've been ready for him forever, and I feel as if this is our purpose, coming together like this on this night. We've been created for this moment. His grip on my being at this moment is adamantine, unbreakable, astonishing; as of now, he owns me and I own him. For this short time, we belong.
My walls flutter and I clench my jaw against it; it can't end. But it is, and then it does, and the stars burst against his eyes as they bore into mine, reeling with everything I feel, and then he's with me, against me, and we collapse.
"Bella," he whispers, his breath shaky against my collarbone. "Bella."
I'm soaring, riding currents of bliss and fulfillment. He'd said my name, my real name, and in this word is everything we had just experienced, everything that differentiated this moment from those before.
We lay silently but for our breathing and the music that still plays in the background. Finally, groaning against it, he pulls out of me, away from me, his skin slipping off of mine, and time snaps back into place as the condom snaps off.
"Wait here," he says quietly, picking up his briefs and slipping them back on before disappearing, leaving me alone in his room on his bed. He's back a moment later, a washcloth held in his hand, climbing up the bed to press it against me softly. His eyes avoid mine, his muscles tense, and I remember who we are and what this is and how it came to be and how it will end.
I move his hand from me and clean myself up, sitting on the edge of the bed and showing him only my back, willing my trembling body into submission, fighting against my soul. He isn't mine, even if I'm his for the moment. A soft kiss on my shoulder pushes a shudder through me and I jump off the bed, bending to pick up my bra and the dress from the floor. My thong is somewhere across the room, but as I slip the brown material over my head, I'm just focused on escaping everything—my thoughts, his room, him. I grab my stockings and turn to face him, dropping the washcloth inconspicuously onto a pile of dirty clothes.
He's pulled his jeans and shirt back on, and is leaning against the desk staring at me, his feet bare. His eyes have aged a thousand years, a knowledge neither of us had been ready for thrust upon us. "Ready?" he asks, so quietly I almost don't hear him.
I nod, unable to speak through my tight throat. It had been everything I expected and more, the best sex of my life as it was and ever will be, and it's over, our purpose served. The compound is about to dissolve.
In his doorway, he pauses, looking down at me, and then his hand is tender against my neck, and his lips are gentle as they press against mine.
"I'll take you to Kate's."
"Thanks," I whisper, and follow him from his room, down the stairs. I grab my phone and chapstick before picking up my boots, stuffing everything into them; I carry them outside with me instead of putting them on. The grass in front of his house is cool and damp against my feet; his are bare as mine, and I realize this is only another similarity between us, as if we are both trying to cleanse our souls of what we've just learned. We've picked the fruit of knowledge unknowingly, unaware that it had been disguised as a peach rather than an apple.
Ensconced in the car, I text Kate to let her know I'm on my way back, anything to avoid looking at Edward.
"I call you Peach because you're soft," he says quietly as he drives. I turn to stare at him, my heart beating bitterly against me. "You've always been soft—your skin was the first thing I noticed about you. I wanted to touch you and see if you felt the same way you looked. But I don't just mean physically—it was emotionally too, which is everything. And you blush, sometimes, and it's pink like a peach, and you smell like peaches to me. I've always loved peaches, and that's all you reminded me of, the entire year. I was saving you for last, as my dessert."
I swallow. "I guess it does make sense."
"No, it doesn't." He's shaking his head, and something heavy fills my veins, and the electricity from earlier had petered out, stranding us in a black out. It will never be returned, the power will never be fixed; the cables have been cut and we are off the grid.
"No," I repeat, whispering as I turn away again. "None of this has."
It's quiet once more, and I wish I could smile at him, wish I could thank him; I would have if things had gone the way I expected, if we had just had normal teenage sex, but we both know that it was different, and it sits between us, weighty and immobile, terrifyingly real.
As we pull up to Kate's, I know this is our goodbye, our ending. We are single elements again, and I wonder if I'll ever get my electron back from him or if I'll find another to replace it. I don't want an electron to replace it, though, and I know I'll simply be a charged ion for the rest of my existence, all because of this insane chemical reaction between us.
"Good night, Peach," he murmurs in the dark, and I simply nod and step out, away, feeling the bond as it falls between us.
His car turns the corner down the street, and my life as I know it has been changed. I thought I knew the definitions of passion and intensity, but my dictionary has been scrambled and I no longer know what is what.
I sit on Kate's step and stare out into the dark, waiting for the moment she'll return and I'll have to lie and tell her nothing happened. What we'd shared isn't material for gossip. It will be mine and mine alone for the rest of my life.
Wasn't planning on writing this, but it kind of just bloomed from the peach blossom. Honestly, it really was just the word Peach, as a nickname. I just thought about Edward calling her Peach, and then I got my plot bunny (link at top) and I suddenly I was using them both to get this as the result. Oh, haaayyy, and my first published lemon, even though the Smirnoff was lime-flavored. Sufficient?
Thanks muchly to cocomama101 (Breathe) and IcelandGirl812 (The Shop at the Corner of Twilight) for their amazing prereads (and help with the summary). I'm so happy I got you two to give me your input early. Much love, like, really really.
Also: do not drink and drive like these two characters. Underage drinking is illegal, as is DRIVING under the influence. Even one may be too many, after all. Please be safe.
Bella's listening to 'Raw Sugar' by Metric in the first scene.
I had no idea Chilean rap could help me write. I feel more poetic than usual. idk, maybe it's just me. I listened to this song ('1977' by Ana Tijoux) on repeat for much of the party scene.
Originally, I wanted to use 'Run' by Snow Patrol for the sex scene, but it slowed me down when writing, so that changed to 'Addicted' by Saving Abel. I still think 'Run' is a great song for that scene, and my original choice. I'd advise taking a listen anyway.
EDIT: nov 4, 2011—I went in and, yes, edited. Changed it from past to present tense because it sounds so much better to me.