Through The Lens One-Shot Contest
Story Title: Chain reaction
Summary: Bella is a rising fashion photographer. She isn't as lucky in her love life as she is in her professional one. She's hired by Edward, an American model with great popularity in Europe, to take some pictures for his book. Will he be just what she needs, or just another thorn in her side?
Characters: Edward & Bella
Disclaimer: I wish I could say I own Twilight, because trust me if I did I would have requested to have lunch with Rob every day he was filming as part of my contract to sell the rights for the movies. Sadly, I do not and I have to settle with owning the biggest collection of his photos known to mankind.
I open one eye and it's immediately offended by the flaring light that filters through the drapes. My mouth is dry and my whole body feels as if an elephant has danced the mambo over it. Then I feel an ache between my legs and swear under my breath. I know immediately what it means. It means I've been stupid enough to get drunk and sleep with a complete stranger. I press my head into the pillow under me hoping to die of asphyxiation. One can always dream.
I knew I shouldn't have gone out with Rosalie the night my ex was getting married. She told me, "Get over it Bella, he wasn't even a decent lay!"
She was right. He had been rather lacking in the bedroom but I did truly believe he was it once upon a time.
It wasn't that he was getting married, I don't love him anymore. I'm not even sure I ever really loved him. What actually bothers me is hearing my mom's voice in my head over and over again.
"No one will ever want to marry a woman like you. Men prefer women that are subservient and know their place in the relationship. You're a stubborn stupid girl and that's all you'll ever be."
Thank you, mommy dearest.
She was right about my ex though. After two years of dating and faking orgasms he left me to marry a girl that looked like she was straight out of the 50s.
So I went clubbing with Rosalie to blow off some steam. And here I am, in a strange bed with parts of my body I never knew I had throbbing and a blurry memory of the night before.
I remember dancing with Rosalie. I can almost hear the echo of the base drumming in my ears. I had danced to its rhythm last night. The memory triggered others in my mind. I remember it was dark and smoky. I could hear voices and laughter all around me. I was alone- in more levels than the obvious one.
Rosalie had left me. She'd seen a guy she had dated casually and abandoned me with false promises of drinks. I knew she would be in a cab with the guy's hands up her skirt within ten minutes.
That's why she and I are such good friends. We were both cut from the same cloth. The sphere in which we move requires us to be assertive and vicious. The fashion industry is a dog-eat-dog world that has no place for the weak or oversensitive. Early on in my career I had to grow a thicker skin to survive it and thrive in it.
Rosalie, as a famous model herself, understands this and lives by the same rules.
I remember two unfamiliar hands wrapping themselves around my waist not long after Rosalie went to 'get us drinks'. I can still feel them on me, moving me closer to a hard body behind me, rocking my body against their owner's to the beat of the song. I think I was too drunk to fight my baser instincts or maybe I have gone too long without a good fuck, but I recall my body doing the stranger's bidding. I left the dance floor with him, fully aware of what was to come. I looked forward to it but I can't even remember the act properly. My body, however, makes up for what my memory is lacking.
I groan my voice raspy. I faintly recall someone screaming. It sounded like me. I blink, my eyes finally getting used to the light. I apprehensively turn to my right. I whimper in pain as my muscles complain of exertion.
I'm greeted by copper strands of hair lying over the pillow next to me. I can hear his soft breathing. My skin goose pimples the moment I am struck with the memory of said breathing on my neck hours earlier.
I close my eyes and when I reopen them, I see two freckles on the whitest skin I've ever laid my eyes on, apart from mine.
It's like alabaster; looking soft and polished. I carefully lift the sheet and admire the sculpted back of the stranger lying next to me. It's flawless expanse marred by red angry marks. It looks as if a wild cat jumped on his back and scratched him.
Then I remember the wild cat was me. I marked him like this.
I look down on myself and I see that I too have been marked. Red welts around my hip, tell a tale of uncontrolled, furious love-making. I can almost see the shape of his nails where they dug into my pelvis.
Have I ever done something so foolish, so uninhibited, so wild?
I don't need an outside opinion, because the answer is no. It has always been no – until now.
I rise from the bed as fast as my muscles allow. I pick up my scattered clothes and run towards the bathroom, closing the door behind me and praying he doesn't wake up.
Please don't wake up.
I look at myself in the mirror and I have the decency to blush. Good, you should feel ashamed of yourself, Bella. You know better than to have one-night stands. Great, now I'm talking to myself in the third person. I must be losing my mind.
I dress quickly, ignoring the protests of my sore body, and open the door slowly and peek outside. He's asleep. I'm in luck – finally.
I grab my purse and check its contents, everything is there. I don't know what to do next. Do I just leave? Do I write a note? Do I wake him up and say goodbye? I compromise and decide on the lesser evil, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper.
What do I write?
Thanks for fucking me so thoroughly, I now think I should quit my gym membership and just sleep with you on regular basis?
Somehow I don't think that's appropriate. So I just write, Thanks.
He can decide what I'm thankful for.
I walk to the door without even looking at his face. I don't want any more mementos of one of the most disgraceful episodes in my life. I twist the knob and exit the room, closing the door behind me.
I sigh heavily against the door. Am I relieved? Or am I sighing in longing over the man I left behind? I decide not to dwell too much on those questions and walk towards the elevator, away from all this doubt, away from him.
"Hi," I answer my phone.
"Hi Bella, it's Rose."
"I know who you are. Caller ID, Rose," I say sardonically. "What do you want?"
I'm snappy like that whenever someone calls me so early in the morning. More so if said someone flew to Milan the morning after she left me stranding in a club and hasn't bothered to check on my well-being for two whole weeks. I understand Rosalie's selfish behavior, but even I think that is cold.
"Sorry?" she replies.
I narrow my eyes suspiciously and sit on my bed. Rosalie Hale never apologizes. In the four years I have known her, I've never heard her utter a word even resembling an apology. Something is off.
"Sorry for calling me so early on a Saturday morning? Or sorry for being a bitch, leaving me high and dry in a club two weeks ago and taking all this time to make sure I'm still alive?" I ask, annoyance and suspicion lacing my voice.
"All of the above?" she answers and again it's like a question.
I groan. I'm not in the mood to play mind-games.
"Rosalie, you do know only people who are hiding something or people who are stupid answer questions with questions? And if you answer that with a question I swear I'll hang up."
"Okay… Jeez… I know you're not a morning person but this is too much even for you," she replies in that high-pitched voice only bats and her PA can hear.
I don't mention to her that the reason behind my short temper is linked to a severe lack of sleep; lack of sleep caused by incessant dreams of bronze-haired demigods with fiery eyes.
"Rosalie, focus please. Get straight to the point. What the hell do you want so badly you have to wake me up at …" I look at the little red numbers displayed on the clock I have on my nightstand, "seven am? What the fuck are you even doing awake at this hour?"
Rosalie sighs. She's clearly on the verge of losing it but holding back. This makes me grab one of my pillows and throw it to the floor in frustration, because it can only mean one thing. She needs something from me.
"Um… well…" she trails off. I decide to put her out of her misery with the hope that whatever she wants can wait until later. Like after I finally sleep for eight hours straight.
"What do you want?" I inquire in my best don't bullshit me voice.
"Right, well. You know I have been dating Emmett Cullen on and off for a while?"
"Yes," I reply, "to the point please."
"He asked me a big favor and I really, for the first time in my life, want a man to take me seriously, to consider a future with me… So I'm begging you, please listen to the request, consider it for at least five minutes before you shoot it down."
I rub my eyes with the palm of my free hand. Rosalie sounds so desperate for my help. She really wants to make a good impression on Emmett to show him that she's a keeper.
I think this method is a waste of time and he's probably already in deeper than she realizes. She just doesn't see it for some reason and is completely insecure about Emmett's attraction to her. This is stupid in my opinion since she's gorgeous.
I believe she's truly in love for the first time and deals with it by always going the extra mile. She's too scared of losing Emmett to someone nicer like she did Royce-her last serious relationship. Emmett must be a very happy man. He found an emotionally stumped woman and turned her into the perfect girlfriend by using her newfound emotions.
"Argh!" I growl into the speaker, because I'm already feeling the sappy romantic in me agreeing to help this she-devil I have as a friend snag herself a man. "Okay, what is this big favor Emmett wants that only I can help you with?"
Rosalie squeals, she fucking squeals into the speaker. Damn it! I already feel a headache coming on.
"Okay, what he wants are your services," she happily announces.
"Services? What the hell do you mean?"
She sighs heavily and answers, "What I meant about ser-vi-ces," she stresses each syllable, "was your services as a photographer which was what you did for a living last time I checked."
I snarl venomously at her comment.
"If you still want that favor you better tone down the snarkiness Rosalie. You need me not the other way around, remember?" I proclaim triumphant.
"Okay, okay… so basically Emmett's little brother is some sort of model, a rising new star in Europe and wants to impress some US designers to become known worldwide or something like that. I think he wants to be an actor, I don't know. Well, bottom line is he wants a new set of photos for his book and wants you to take them. He is a big fan of your work so Emmett asked me if I could get you on board with that."
"He's a big fan of my work?" I question sarcastically. I'm not exactly a renowned photographer – yet. I'm barely making a name for myself and this boy is asking specifically for me? This seems highly suspicious so I ask, "What's the catch?" Do I have to do this for free?"
"Oh no!" Rosalie is quick to clarify, "Emmett's family is loaded. Even if his little bro isn't a big name in the fashion world yet, he can afford you. Heck! I'm sure he could afford someone more famous but he wants you, no one else."
I pull the covers off me and sit Indian style on my bed. I smell something fishy but I just can't put my finger in it. So reluctantly, I acquiesce. May as well find out right?
I'm sure I'm left partially deaf by Rosalie's squeals of delight. She used to be so cynical and caustic. I think Emmett has finally managed to fuck her brains out.
Early Monday morning I'm picked up by a limousine. When Rosalie said the Cullens were loaded she apparently wasn't kidding. The photo shoot is supposed to be simple so I won't need my assistant or any of my usual crew. Mr. Cullen, as I call him since Rosalie didn't provide me with his given name, paid cash in advance for my services and requested I come alone. He wants photographs au natural, or so Rosalie said. He must be drop-dead gorgeous, or incredibly stupid, to want a photo shoot like that. In my experience, most models without make-up and the right lightning look like characters out of the 'Dawn of the dead' and I'm not talking about the living characters.
We head out towards the suburbs and I quickly realize I'm being driven towards one of the most expensive neighborhoods in town. When the limo stops, the chauffeur walks to my door and gallantly opens it before I even have time to react.
I step out of the car and my jaw immediately goes slack. I think the chauffeur made a wrong turn somewhere on the way and we accidentally ended up in a Villa near Tuscany. The house is imposing, surrounded by trees and flowers, all impeccably kept. The gardener has his work cut out for him with the size of this place. The house has a distinct Mediterranean style and since we are in the middle of July and it's smoldering hot it all adds to the illusion that we truly are in Italy.
A butler opens the door and descends the stairs to greet me. He sort of reminds me of Lurch from 'The Adams Family'. He's scary tall, extremely pale, and has a solemn expression I have only ever seen plastered on the face of funeral home owners.
"Ms. Swan," he says in that grave voice only butlers use. I almost expect him to have a British accent. He doesn't, luckily, because I already find the situation funny enough. I feel a sudden urge to giggle. I refrain, of course, because I'm a professional and this is just another day at work, even with how ostentatious my working place is.
"Hi," I reply, trying to remember all the rules of etiquette I have ever heard of. I'm not completely sure if I should curtsy, offer my hand or just stand there. I decide on the third option.
"Master Cullen is waiting for you." Lurch signals towards the door.
I really have to make an effort not to laugh as I imagine a man with no face as Mr. Cullen, surrounded by BDSM paraphernalia. I definitely need to get laid. My brain, as of late, finds sexual innuendo in everything. However, I know there's one particular man I want to have sex with and he's as faceless as Mr. Cullen is to me. God! Now I wish I had a better memory of that night or that I had taken a look at his face before leaving him in that hotel room.
I follow Lurch through the very impressive foyer. I notice as I walk behind him that this house is full of art from literally everywhere. I can see paintings that are markedly European. I even recognize a couple and wonder if they are originals. With the riches displayed all over this place they could be. I can see indigenous and tribal art from all over the globe as well. It all fits together amazingly well, in spite of the complete clash of styles.
"He's by the pool." Lurch points to a pair of French doors and I assume I'm supposed to walk through them to find Mr. Cullen.
Before I can even thank him, Lurch disappears into thin air. I just blinked and he was gone. These have to be the best qualified employees on the face of the planet. I briefly speculate that maybe they make more money than I do, which would explain their meticulousness.
I head towards the pool and what a big pool it is. I have seen many pools in my years as a photographer, had photo shoots by them, but this has to be the biggest pool I've ever seen in my life. I think is Olympic size.
I fruitlessly search for Mr. Cullen. I squint my eyes trying to protect them from the glare of the sun. I direct my gaze at the other side of the pool, maybe he's sitting there and I'm not seeing him because it's so freaking gigantic.
I hear a splash of water and catch a glimpse of a muscular body as it traverses at an astounding speed towards the edge of the pool.
And the world stops spinning. The most stunning man I have ever seen climbs out of the pool. Water pours all over the floor, caressing the hard planes of his body on the way down. He grabs a towel from a lounge chair by the edge and dries off his body.
The first verse of Muse's 'Time is Running Out' starts playing in my head.
I think I'm drowning
I wanna break this spell
That you've created
You're something beautiful
I wanna play the game
I want the friction
You will be the death of me
Holy shit! This guy will truly be the death of me. The way big water droplets travel the expanse of his glorious body from his wet hair to his neck, to his abs…
Oh my God! He's truly perfect! That is not a six pack, that's a six-six-six pack, so sinfully carved it has to be the work of the Devil; a man put on Earth to torment me.
In the midst of my ogling he realizes he's being watched. He looks at me. His eyes are this unbelievable shade of green, so deep I truly feel like I'm drowning.
He's tall, muscular but not overly so. He has the body of a swimmer, lean, muscular… lickable. My mouth feels suddenly very dry.
I'm mesmerized, caught in the spell of this man; this godlike creature that cannot possibly be human. He walks in my direction, his eyes never leaving mine.
For a split second I consider if this is how Eve felt when the snake tempted her in the Garden of Eden. Were the snake's eyes green as well? Was she as trapped by its emerald gaze as I was by his?
If that snake had taken human form to lure women around the world I was sure it took form in Mr. Cullen.
He speaks, "Good morning Ms. Swan, thank you for coming on such short notice."
I think I whimper. His voice is like honey laced with Ecstasy. You drink it and it's sweet, thick and delicious. Then the drug kicks in and you feel high and extremely horny.
Funnily enough a sense of déjà vu engulfs me when I hear his voice for the first time. I think I know him from somewhere, although I'm not sure from where. I must have seen some TV ad he shot, although how could I ever forget this Greek God eludes me.
Trying to gather my wits, I remind myself that I'm a professional and this is Emmett's little brother.
Emmett is twenty three. I always tease Rosalie about her cougar-ish ways. I can't exactly do that anymore if I'm a bigger cougar by jumping her boyfriend's younger brother.
"Not a problem, Mr. Cullen," I state in a firm voice. I'm proud of myself for being able to pretend I'm not affected by his extreme beauty.
However, he has to go and break my frail composure by smiling. I hyperventilate. Surely no one can breathe normally when he smiles like that.
"Are you okay Ms. Swan?" he asks in that fuck-hot voice again.
I wish the ground would open beneath me and swallow me now. This is so embarrassing.
"Yep," I squeak. I clear my throat so that I stop sounding like a rubber toy before I continue, "just allergies."
He looks at me with those green, deep-as-the-ocean, hypnotic eyes. I can see he doesn't really buy my excuse, but mercifully, he lets it go.
"Well then, please call me Edward. Mr. Cullen is my dad. I'll go change into the clothes I selected for the photographs and you can set up in my office. I'll send Vincent to show you the way there. I want the first set there, a couple in my garden, then a few more in the private courtyard my bedroom has. Would that be okay with you?"
I nod, because clearly I can't trust myself to utter more than monosyllables or short sentences around Edward Cullen.
Edward wraps himself in a robe that was also lying on the lounge chair and I feel like stomping my foot in protest because that body should not be hidden from my view. He walks to the house and after a short while Lurch, who I assume is truly named Vincent, comes to take me to Edward's office.
Edward's office is not exactly what I expected. When he mentioned it as one of the locations for the shoot I expected big bookcases, cigars, brandy, wooden floors, etcetera. I've clearly read too many Sherlock Holmes novels.
His office is more like an artist's studio. There is a huge drawing table like the ones used by architects in the middle of the room and a notice board full of photographs, sketches, and drawings just behind it. The lighting is fantastic and I'm evaluating where I'll want him to pose when I hear the door open. I turn and freeze where I stand.
Holy Mother of…
I stop breathing altogether.
He looks downright edible. How can someone look so incredibly hot in an old ratty tee, some dirty-looking sneakers, a vintage leather jacket and the most hideous brown jeans ever manufactured?
If he looks so hot like that, I can only begin to imagine how he'd look in a suit for one of the modeling campaigns he must have worked for. A shiver runs through my body at the thought.
Mercifully, I'm able to regain my composure before he notices and I do my best to address him as if not a dirty thought had crossed my mind during my brief stunned silence.
"Hi," I breathe like an infatuated schoolgirl. So much for playing it cool.
"Hi." He smiles.
I feel like I'm melting.
"So you're all set up?" he asks, gesturing towards my equipment.
I'm briefly distracted by the cadence of his voice. I think that every time he talks to me it gets huskier, sexier, more spellbinding.
"Yes," I reply when I'm able to collect myself. "Now you just have to explain to me what exactly it is that you want. Rosalie was very vague about it so I'm guessing you wanted to explain things yourself."
I really must stop with these pauses every time he speaks to me. He's going to think I'm drunk or something.
His eyes alight with something I can't quite read. It makes me squirm.
"Oh, it's quite simple. I don't really do modeling jobs outside of the ones I've done for my sister, Alice Whitlock. Have you heard of her?"
My eyes widen, Alice Whitlock is the new Coco Channel of the fashion world. Every one praises her collections and her ability to design for both men and women with ease. A skill not many designers have. Brief flashes of Alice Whitlock's campaigns cross my mind and I remember why I felt I've seen Edward before. I had, he was the face of Whitlock's men's line.
"Of course I have," I answer quickly. "I'm a great admirer of hers."
I smile a little too broadly because I'm nervous and his eyes continue to study me with that look I can't quite figure out.
"As I was saying, I don't really do anything outside of her firm. I want to broaden my horizons now that I'm moving back to America to further my College career and I don't really have anything but campaign ads in my book. I want more natural pictures, something you would find in People not something you would find in GQ. Do I make sense?"
All through his speech all that registers in my mind is that he's coming here to expand his college education which reminds me of the fact that he's so much younger than I am. I'm Twenty six years old, twenty seven this September. I can't date a boy! I almost groan but refrain.
"Yes of course, perfect sense."
He gives me another one of his funny looks and smiles crookedly taking my breath away again.
"Okay then, where do you want me?" he inquires.
A million ideas, or more like positions, come to the forefront of my mind. I really need to have sex. I'm not usually this affected by the models I work with.
"Why don't we start with the d-drawing table," I stammer.
He walks to the table and sits on it, his feet on a chair, places a hand behind his neck and his other one hangs limply in front of him. All I can think of as he assumes this pose is how I have a perfect view of the part of his body I long the most to touch. I know from the Speedo he was wearing when I met him that he is packing.
Oh please! Whatever deity put me in this situation let me survive this shoot!
"Like this?" he asks.
"Um… yes. It looks great," I reply as I aim my camera at him. The lighting is perfect and my model so good-looking. I probably won't even need to do any corrections to these photographs.
I start taking pictures and he switches poses of his own accord. He's a pro. He knows what his best angles are and works them. I barely have to give him instructions. He just naturally adopts the position he knows will look best.
"So, how long have you been doing this Ms Swan?" He asks. We are in his garden, after taking a good amount of pictures back in his office. It's a really sunny day but there's a soft breeze so it's quite pleasant out.
"Bella," I correct. I hate being called by such formal name.
"Bella," he enunciates slowly and my name on his lips sounds like a dirty word. My skin feels electrified.
"Um…" I ponder as I continue to photograph him. I'm distracted by him and I have to think of an answer I would normally be able to respond without hesitation.
He's sitting in a small hill of yellowing long grass. We are near the end of his property, on the edges of the natural wood that surrounds the house. He changed clothes but looks just as casual, homey and conversely godlike as he did in his previous outfit.
"All my life really, but professionally since I finished college, four years ago," I answer as I signal for him to move his chin a little higher. He of course understands what I want and complies.
I start to get nervous. He was really quiet in his office and that allowed me to submerge myself in what I was doing and not who I was doing it with. Now that he's trying to make small talk I'm afraid I'll get hypnotized by his voice and do or say something terribly stupid.
"So you're what, twenty six?"
I smile wickedly at his question but I'm not sure if he can see it with the camera covering most of my face. I take advantage of it and decide to play a bit with him.
"You know is quite impolite to ask a lady's age, Edward," I tease.
"I think age is a state of mind. I just turned twenty last month but I can assure you I'm more mature than my two older siblings."
I mentally kick myself. He's even younger than I thought he was. A freaking six, almost seven years' difference!
"You're young to have finished college already," I state trying to deflect the question. Now that I know how young he is I dread telling him my age.
He gives me a salacious grin and I can already feel heat pooling low in my belly. Over a smile! What the hell is wrong with me?
"As I've told you Bella, I'm quite mature for my age. I knew I wanted to be an architect since I was really young. I saw Gaudí's work in Barcelona, I set myself a goal and I fought hard to achieve it. I always get what I want, Bella."
That explains the drawing table and the notice board full of drawings and photographs of houses in his studio. However, I do not mull over this for long since the way he says that last sentence makes me feel lightheaded. I feel like he's trying to toy with me, playing games with my mind. Well, two can play that game.
"Oh really?" I tease. "I'll have to disagree with you on that one, Edward. If there's something I've learned in life it's that no one always get what they want."
My mind is taken back to the day my ex got married a little over two weeks ago. How much of a failure I felt that day and the things I did that night. Not that I regretted it too much, what little I could remember was amazing. It was probably the best sex I've had in my life, too bad I didn't know who I had it with. If I hadn't fled that morning I could give him a call right now, and maybe get Edward Cullen from under my skin with a good fuck.
"I might prove you wrong yet," he answers with a mysterious undertone in his voice. I don't have the time to dwell on any hidden messages he might be sending me when I realize it's time to move to our last location if we want to take advantage of the sun. I gulp as I remember what that last location is: the courtyard we can only access through Edward's bedroom.
Fuck. My. Life.
His room is decorated in the same Mediterranean style as the rest of the house. I swallow convulsively as my mind registers the huge four poster bed in the center of the room. The bedding and duvet are all white, as is the canopy hanging from the posters. There is a cushioned bench by the foot of the bed and the wall to the right of the bed is completely paneled with mirrors. I blush at the thoughts those mirrors inspire in me.
"Are you feeling hot? I could ask Vincent to bring us some lemonade," Edward says, interrupting my kinky fantasies.
"No. I'm good," I respond, lowering my equipment on the bench.
I take my camera and we walk to the courtyard where he wants the pictures taken. It's a lovely courtyard, with walls all around it that provide privacy, but allow the sunlight to bathe the many planters with blossoming flowers scattered around the secluded space.
There's a hammock hovering over a grassy patch of the patio, and I get the idea to make him lay on it for the next set of pictures. He agrees and sits on the hammock with one foot on the ground and the other on the hammock. I start taking pictures and get lost in the flashes of the camera and the clicking sound of the shutter.
"You never answered my question Bella," he says, breaking the silence between us.
"I never said I would. What's the importance of age if it's only a state of mind?" I challenge.
I continue taking pictures, just a couple more to be sure, then I can leave this incubus to prey on some other woman. Somehow, I find the idea of him with anyone else unpleasant. It creates an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach that I try to ignore.
I step closer to where he's lying. I want to shoot a specific angle from above him with him resting on his back on the hammock but classic me – I trip.
Before I even know how, I'm lying on top of Edward's firm body. He caught me before I was unceremoniously acquainted with the floor and held me close. My breathing is immediately ragged and I'm sure my pupils are dilated. His scent is intoxicating. It fills my lungs and causes shivers to run through my very bones.
His mouth is so close. His luscious lips open and his breath whispers across my face. It takes all my willpower to try to rise from the position I'm in but something holds me down. I try to break lose when I feel warm fingers dig into the sliver of exposed skin between my blouse and my jeans.
My whole body trembles. Where his fingers touch me I feel flickers of electricity tickling my skin, making my already ragged breathing hitch.
"I'll just…" I start but I'm interrupted by Edward dragging his free hand behind my neck, grabbing the strap of my camera, removing it from between us and placing it on the grass.
I sink even further, the angle and flexibility of the hammock causing my body to meld into Edward's. Even though our chests are covered I can feel the warmth emanating from him and that's enough to excite me beyond what I could have ever imagined. I feel my nipples harden under my clothes.
He looks directly into my eyes; his emerald orbs drawing me in like a lighthouse guides ships to the shore. My mouth feels dry and I unconsciously wet my lips with my tongue in an effort to keep them moist. Edward's eyes darken. Something primal and alluring appears on his face. I'm trying to break from whatever spell this demon is trying to put on me when I feel his hand slowly crawling under my blouse. I moan softly at the deluge of pleasurable sparks that surge in its path.
Then my head is pushed down towards Edward's mouth and I'm too far gone to even fight it anymore.
Our lips meet and it's an explosion of sensations: the softness of his lips on mine, the sweetness of his breath, his velvet soft tongue caressing mine, the sharpness of his teeth as he nibbles on my bottom lip. I feel drunk; drunk on Edward.
I can hear my moans, my voice sounds foreign to me – needy. I'm like a famished animal and Edward's lips are just the kind of food I need to sate my hunger. Somewhere deep within me I know that what I'm doing is wrong, that he's too young for me, that he's paying me for a whole different type of service but I just can't stop myself; can't stop us.
I feel him push my blouse up as my hands sink into his short hair. I massage his scalp and he moans into my mouth, his hips rubbing against mine. I instinctively open my legs and straddle him, bringing our lower halves closer and providing me with the friction my body is craving.
The hammock sways with our bodies, making our movements more intense, more frantic, more animalistic. I need to breathe and I reluctantly separate myself from Edward's mouth but keep rocking my hips against him.
Edward's hands continue their exploration under my blouse, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He takes advantage of the fact I've stopped to catch my breath and starts kissing from my jaw to my collarbone. His kisses are wet, hot, sinful. I groan.
He nibbles my earlobe and whispers in my ear, "I've wanted to have you like this for so long. I've dreamed of you every night since you left me in that hotel room with only a note."
That's enough to clear the lustful fog I'm trapped in. I stop moving, my feet settling at each side of Edward's body, supporting my weight on the grass.
What did he just say?
As I look into his eyes, memories of that night flood my mind.
How he danced with me, moving his body with mine, making me feel all of him as he wrapped his arms around me. How he whispered naughty things in my ear, getting me all worked up. I couldn't resist him that night any better than I did today but that night at least I had the excuse of being wasted.
When I dragged him to a hotel near the club, I was completely drunk. When I pushed him against a wall and kissed him fiercely, ignoring the many looks we were gathering, I had been completely out of control. When I kneeled over his naked form in the bed and took him in me I had been intoxicated by more than alcohol. And as we rocked against each other, climbing higher and higher, until we reached the stars, I had been soaring in bliss.
Now, however, I was completely sober.
It hits me that this whole shoot was probably a ruse so that he could have me again in his bed and maybe exert some sort of revenge on me for probably being the only woman who ever left him naked and alone in a hotel room, instead of the other way around. I immediately try to extricate myself from his hold.
I don't take into account the fact that he's so much bigger than I am or that he's obviously determined to have me, because instead of up on my own two feet I find myself on Edward's shoulder screaming and kicking fruitlessly as he walks towards his room.
"Stop it!" he growls.
He just growled at me and I'm even more aroused. What the hell? There's something seriously messed up with my head.
He unceremoniously drops me on the bed, climbing down on top of me grabbing both of my wrists in one of his hands and placing them above my head.
He moves his lips really close to my ear again and says in a low, menacing, I-am-about-to-eat-you-whole voice, "Last time we were together I let you take the reigns. I know you like to dominate the men in your life. I could feel it in the way you rode me that night: fearless, feral, wanton…"
I tremble under him, his voice is an aphrodisiac shot straight into my system.
"You set up this whole thing to get your own back?" I ask in a shaky voice. I really wish I was as domineering as I was that night. Letting him get under my skin like this really doesn't bode well for me.
"In a way…" he admits, "I want you to be mine; I wanted you back. So, yes, I want what's mine back." He places a hot, open-mouthed kiss under my ear and I'm shaking like a leaf. I'm so turned on, about to burst into flames.
My ex was the only man I ever gave some power, at least over my heart, and that didn't turn out too well for me.
I feel him begin to unbutton my blouse and I can't find the strength to kick him off me or do anything to stop this.
"You know…" he says, placing kisses over every inch of newly exposed skin. "I used to be like you. I always loved to be the one in command and I won't lie to you, I still do. But that night Bella…" he bites the swell of my breast and I think I'm going to come just from that.
"That night…" He continues. "I don't think I've ever come as hard as I did when I had you wrapped around me and pressing me down, scratching and clawing at me. I tried to take charge a couple of times, push you down, like I did with all the girls I've fucked, but you wouldn't have any of that. I still have some bruises and marks on me from where you dug your nails into my flesh."
Jesus! He's talking me into an orgasm. I find his depiction of that night infinitely arousing; that I was actually able to take him like he says I did.
"So what exactly do you want?" I moan. I can no longer control my breathing, all the buttons of my blouse undone, Edward Cullen, male model is licking my torso with gusto.
"I want you, all of you… You're all I can think about, all I dream of. When you left me that morning with a note that said Thanks," he pronounces the word thanks like it's disgusting to his palate.
"I thought that was your way of saying: thank you boy, it was a lovely night but I only date men. I swore to myself that I was going to contact Rosalie and get your name. Fuck you until you couldn't walk and show you I was all man."
Okay so he obviously thought I had an issue with age, which I do, but for him I would seriously consider making an exception.
"But now…" he goes on, "now that I have you here I don't want to let you go. I want you to be mine and only mine. I'm a selfish bastard and I don't want to share."
He grabs my face with his free hand and turns it towards the mirror-paneled wall.
"Look at us!" he commands. "Look at how good we look, me hovering over you, you half naked and at my mercy."
Oh my fuck…
We do look fantastic. I don't even recognize myself. The stern, put-together woman I usually am is not the aroused, breathless, flushed female that's under Edward. My hair is splayed over his white pillows, my lips cherry red and swollen from his ferocious kissing, my eyes are as wild as his when they meet on the mirror.
He lowers his head again and whispers into my ear, "Let me have you."
Then his pink, smooth tongue peeks from his mouth and he tastes my neck. He's a predator and I'm his prey, and from the feral look I see reflected back at me when our eyes meet once more, he's very, very hungry.
I can run or I can let him take me. Decisions… decisions…
Oh what the hell!
My body is screaming, Yes.
I nod looking straight at his reflection in the mirror.
He smiles that lopsided grin that makes me want to rip his clothes off and lick every part of his glorious body. He starts to work.
He kisses me while he eases off my unbuttoned blouse. My arms wrap themselves around his neck when he releases my wrists and I rake my fingers through his short hair, pulling and massaging.
I take pleasure in the sounds I provoke with this simplest of actions. I can let him take me, I can allow him to lead but he has power only because I let him.
He's making me his and I'm making him mine.
Soon, I'm braless and writhing beneath him as he suckles on my hardened nipples. He pops my jeans open and in one smooth move rids me of them, my underwear as well.
I'm completely naked beneath him and he's still fully clothed. This would not do, as I think this I rise from the bed trying to reach for him and get rid of those offending garments.
He stops me by lifting one hand, saying, "Look at me."
I lie down again and observe as he slowly peels himself from every single item of clothes he has on.
He's the snake from the Garden of Eden.
He's the incubus from folktales.
He's a demon.
He is sin itself.
As his naked form covers mine, I contemplate how someone can be so breathtakingly beautiful.
He starts a path with his mouth from my lips, to my breasts and stops briefly on my belly where his mouth investigates the surface of my abdomen as if it's an uncharted territory and he's the first explorer to ever catch sight of it.
I'm making noises I didn't know I could make.
His stubble rubs against my stomach, his tongue dips inside my navel; I never knew the abdomen was such an erogenous zone.
He goes lower and lower, finally reaching the place where I want him the most. His tongue circles me there and I moan so loud that I hope his room is sound-proof.
He works me over with his tongue and I get wetter and hotter with each swipe. When he adds two of his long, skilled fingers I finally come undone. I scream a garbled version of his name, my brain so clouded by ecstasy I can't even think anymore.
I'm climbing down from my cloud, my breathing still consisting of nothing but gasps when I feel his mouth on mine. I moan when I taste myself mixed with his sweet flavor. I don't think I've ever been this overwrought in my entire life.
"Lift your legs!" he orders.
I follow his instructions, slave to his wants and lift my legs in the air. He places one hand on each thigh spreading them wide.
He caresses each thigh like prized possessions. I'm already so stimulated I might just come again. He leans close to me and directs me to keep them up.
He caresses my inner thighs just once more and then in one swift move he's in me.
I cry out; he's so big. Bigger than what I've experienced before him, this time I'm fully aware of it to be able to appreciate it. In this position he reaches places I didn't even know I had in me.
I can feel him everywhere. I'm so full of him I feel like I can't breathe.
"Fuck!" he swears under his breath.
"Look at me Bella" he demands and I comply immediately. I would do anything this man asks me, no questions asked. I've never felt possessed, this much as part of someone. The feeling is heady, his green eyes seductive and aflame. My dreams didn't do him justice.
"I've waited weeks to be inside of you again. Do you feel it Bella?"
I nod and bite my lower lip. I can't utter a word, I'm too overwhelmed by the sensations to articulate speech.
He positions himself so that his mouth is hovering over mine and says in a throaty voice, "When I move, you'll feel me all the way to your tonsils Bella. I'll make you understand the meaning of being fucked silly."
I hear a guttural sound emanating from me. I think I just roared.
And then he starts moving, in and out… round and round… I grunt and moan, making keening sounds and clawing at him for something to hold onto. He's hitting me right there, in that place that makes me see white lights in front of my eyes and I just can't stop the chain reaction he has started. I don't want to.
Each thrust pushes me higher and higher and higher. I can't even see the ground anymore. I start looking for things to cling to, his back too smooth for me to find purchase. I need something to keep me grounded lest I fall from this high. I grab what I think are the corners of the canopy above us but I can't really be sure of anything when this magnificent creature is drilling into me unrelentingly.
His fingers dig into my legs and I can feel that he's near his end. I can feel it in the way his thrusts get harder and erratic. I can hear it in the sounds he's making, I can even smell it on him.
Like a domino effect, each piece lined up with precision, now knocked down by Edward's final thrust taking us both with them.
After a while, it could have been five minutes or an eternity, I regain the use of my body, and feel his weight over me. In the past, like a mantis that had gotten her fill, I would have pushed my lover from over me but I welcome Edward's weight. I crave it.
I notice some pieces of ripped off canopy in my hands and I drop them to the floor, thankful I didn't bring the whole thing down on us.
"Mmmm…" I moan under him and I feel his arms tighten around me, trapping me inside his prison. For the first time ever, I don't feel the need to run.
"I know this is going to sound stupid now," Edward says in a raspy voice after a short while. "But will you go out with me… on a date?"
I open my eyes and find his emerald ones giving me this weird vulnerable look. He finally seems his age as he waits for my answer.
The face-splitting smile that adorns his features is all the reward I need.