Beautiful Edward Challenge Anonymous Entry
Story Title: My Masterpiece
Summary: Even six months after their first encounter, Bella can't get Edward out of her mind. She wants him in her bedroom-anyway she can. AH/OOC/M for adult themes
Word count: 4,607
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I wish I owned Edward...I'd have him do all sorts of wicked things.
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I made my way down the stairs into the darkened, smoke-filled room. I hoped no one would notice the bulky bag I carried with me. It wasn't typical attire for this type of establishment, but I needed it. With each step I took, my heart fluttered a little more. I said a silent prayer that
he would be in his usual spot. I hoped so. I was counting on it in fact. I knew that if he wasn't at the bar at the bottom of the stairs I wouldn't be staying; not even for one drink to drown my sorrows. It would just be a waste of time. Especially when I could be at home working on my project-which was ultimately the reason I was back at the bar.
I tried to push the concern out of my mind; I knew he was going to be there. I had prepared well, going so far as to ring the bar to ensure he was on. I had been told that he was due in shortly. I had gathered up my supplies and packed them into my duffle bag. I probably could have done some more work on my project without going to the bar, but why do that when I could see him and maybe even mutter a few precious words to him?
I hit the bottom stair and my eyes immediately began searching. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw his familiar copper-coloured do at the end of the bar. I counted the stools along his section of the wooded counter. I had been here often enough to know that they were allocated a set number of stools each night. They were responsible for tending to their own patrons and earning their individual tips. I selected a seat on the outskirts of his area. Close enough that I would be served by him, but far enough away that I would be able to watch him without his knowledge.
I climbed onto the stool, letting my hair create a shield between us until I was settled. I surreptitiously slipped my sketchbook out from my bag and slid it onto my lap. I flicked it open to a new page-page thirty in my book dedicated solely to him. I laid my pencil on top and, once I was sure it wasn't able to be seen from his position behind the bar, attempted to catch his attention. Okay, so I was stalking him-but his chiselled features justified my actions.
Even after twenty-nine pages of sketches and a mural at home, his beauty blew me away and rendered me almost speechless. Under the blue lights running along the bar, his pale skin seemed to glow softly. As he wiped the counter, his full lips turned up into a slightly off-centre smile. One corner of his mouth pulled just a little higher up his cheeks than the other, but instead of making him look off balance, it made him more perfect. His eyes were a deep stormy-green, like the clouds in the sky holding the promise of hail. Their dark depths always seemed to hold tightly to secrets and teased of carnal delights. Whenever our eyes met-which wasn't often because mine would fall away whenever he glanced in my direction-his would hold me captive. I don't know that any female would be able to resist his charms if they were lucky enough to capture his attention. I could almost see the things he could do to me and there was no question of whether or not I would allow him access. I squirmed in my seat just thinking about his eyes, knowing all the while that they held nothing on his hands or on the long fingers extending from them.
One night, I had sat watching him cleaning glasses. I couldn't think of a time that I had witnessed anything more seductive in all my life. The way he pushed the tips of his fingers against the cloth at the bottom of the glass, pressing with just enough force to shift the dirt and stains without breaking anything. He stroked up and down the length of the glasses with great care-long, slow strokes-up then down, then up again. I may have moaned out loud when he started caressing the long, narrow necks of the champagne flutes, forcing his fingers gently inside the tight space.
Somehow, he had seen my tiny wave for attention and was in front of me almost instantly. "Hi," he said warmly, sending flames of red running along the lengths of my cheeks. I had never been able to talk to him without blushing.
"Hi," I muttered back, unable to infuse my voice with any volume. My eyes dropped to watch the hand he was using to support his weight as he leaned into the bar. I visually traced the muscles and sinews of his forearm as they twisted and entwined around each other. I thought about what it would feel like to run my tongue along those muscles.
"The usual?" he asked.
He pulled a glass down from the rack directly overhead. As he raised his arm, his shirt lifted and exposed his happy trail, causing my mouth to water and gave me the desireto dance and skip merrily along that path. He smirked at me as he set the glass down on the counter and set about making me a Fruit Tingle. Every week for the past six months I had taken my place in front of the bar-my makeshift altar to worship his beauty.
"Good?" he asked, nodding towards the drink and capturing me with his eyes.
Those damn eyes. Of everything on this perfect example of a man, it was his eyes that both fascinated and frustrated me the most. No matter how many times I attempted to draw them I just couldn't capture their perfection.
I fingered the straw, slowly drawing liquid into my throat as I peered at him, watching and waiting expectantly. I smiled shyly and nodded that it was perfect…just like him. I sighed at the thought.
He moved off to serve other customers, giving me an opportunity to start sketching roughly in my book. I was obsessed with getting my mural at home just right. I couldn't say exactly when I had become crazy, but I did recall my first experience with perfection.
Six months ago-the worst day of my life-I had started my day by falling over and twisting my ankle. By lunchtime, I had lost my job and then broke up with my boyfriend during dinner. I'd decided that the only cure for my hellacious hours was a stiff drink…or ten. By chance I had stumbled upon a little hole in the wall -or perhaps more appropriately hole in the floor-bar. Without realising that it would change my purpose in life, I hobbled down the stairs and stopped cold.
He had been working the front section of the bar that night. It felt like I had fallen to my death and was standing in front of St. Peter himself. His hair was a little shorter then, and he wore it closely cropped to his head. Over the months since, he progressively had less and less cut off the length; I preferred it just a little bit longer.
That first night, he had taken a moment to absorb my appearance and had a drink waiting for me by the time I had hobbled to the bar. He slid it in front of me, and I glanced nervously at it.
"On the house," he had said, before gifting me with a beaming smile.
My heart had stopped beating for a few seconds the first time I saw him smile. He had touched my hand lightly, causing me to hyperventilate, my lungs fluttered against my chest as rapidly as my renewed heartbeat.
I shook my head. "I can't." I gently slid the drink back toward him as all of my father's warnings about accepting drinks from men leapt to the forefront of my mind.
"I insist," he said, before smirking at me.
He shrugged. "Well, if you really don't want it..." he trailed off before bringing the straw to his lips. His tongue pressed forward and lapped the top of the straw. He closed his lips around it and sucked hard.
Tingles ran down my spine as I watched him drinking-all seemingly landing at the apex of my thighs. I shifted my weight slightly to create a little friction-trying to quell the sensation. Unfortunately, it meant I had put extra weight onto my twisted ankle, and I fell to the floor in a screaming heap.
He leapt over the bar to come to my aid. Leapt. Over. The. Freaking. Bar. He lifted me up effortlessly and gently placed me on a barstool, pushing the drink in front of me. This time I compliantly drank. It was without doubt the best thing to ever pass my lips. I could literally feel the fizz of the drink as it hit my tongue.
"What is that?" I asked, surprised at the intensity of my own voice.
He chuckled. "It's a Fruit Tingle. They were always my sister's go-to drink."
The only word I had heard was 'tingle', because he had leant into me as he'd spoken, allowing me the gift of his scent. He smelled...warm...and it made me feel all tingle-y.
After five Fruit Tingles, I had decided it was a damn shame he wasn't on canvas-someone as beautiful as him should be on canvas. That was when I came up with the idea that I should be the one to immortalise him.
I had picked up a napkin and stolen a pen from behind the bar, deciding there was no time like the present to start.
"Earth to Tingles." A rich voice pulled me back to the present.
He was standing right above me. I had been so lost in my memory I hadn't noticed his approach. I quickly slid closer to the bar so that he couldn't see the sketches I had been working on. I blushed again, causing him to smile and me to blush redder still.
"Sorry," I muttered.
He shrugged. "It's okay. I live to be ignored by people unless they want something."
I gasped in horror. There was nothing about him that could or should ever be ignored. He leaned onto the bar, resting on his elbows.
I glanced around and noticed I was the only one in his section.
"Quiet night?" I asked softly.
My face fell as I realised I had wasted precious moments daydreaming about our past.
"Oh shit, I'd better go," I stammered, pushing my book roughly into my bag, not even bothering to close it.
His hand reached out. "Wait!" he said quickly.
I turned back toward him, confused. He was breaking our regular routine. I would always come, have a few drinks, sketch him slyly, and leave at closing with a quick goodbye.
I glanced at the hand that was gently holding onto my arm.
"I was just wondering..." he started, "Wait... what I mean is..."
He looked up at me through his lashes. I would wait forever to know what he was going to say if only I could continue to stare at his eyes, framed by those thick black lashes. I wondered if there was any part of him that wasn't so perfect, but knew there couldn't possibly be. People like him were blessed all over; and I do mean all over. My eyes dropped to the bar that was covering his lower half.
"Can I have your number?" he finished.
I blinked, confused.
"I'm not supposed to do this," he rambled. "If I wasn't already leaving, I would probably lose my job over it. There are strict 'fraternisation with customers' rules you see?"
I shook my head. I didn't see. I didn't understand. He was leaving? I panicked. My masterpiece was still months-years-from being finished. Wait... he wants my number.
He looked crestfallen. Like a kid at a candy store who had just been diagnosed as diabetic.
"I understand," he murmured.
I knew there was only one thing to do. I used every ounce of alcohol-infused courage I had and wrote my name and phone number on a napkin.
"Bella," he said, rolling my name around his mouth, his tongue caressing it carefully. "Beautiful." He murmured so quietly, I might have misheard him.
"I'm Edward," he said, extending his hand to greet me.
"It's lovely to meet you, Edward," I said. I knew his name from so many months spent frequenting the bar, but we had never been properly introduced. I managed to scrape one more act of bravery out of the booze coursing through my body. "I look forward to your call."
As I hit the stairs, I could have sworn I heard, "I look forward to calling", but when I turned around, he was already gone.
When I'd woken the next morning, I pulled my book from my bag-discarded by my front door when I'd arrived home on an Edward-asked-for-my-phone-number-induced high-before setting about making some changes to my mural.
I pulled back the curtain that rested across the north-facing wall, climbing over my bed in order to push along the material as it gathered between the bed head and the plasterboard. Behind the purple fabric hung my masterpiece. I had slowly pieced together the various sketches I had taken, drawing, erasing, painting and shading in turn. My goal was to have Edward in my bedroom-watching over me while I slept below. Creepy? Yes, but I couldn't help it. I was obsessed with having him close to me-any way I could.
As I worked, I tried not to glance at my mobile. It was hard-its silence was louder than a drum. It kept echoing the same words with its absolute stillness, "he's not going to call...he's not going to call."
I tested the new shade of green I had purchased the day before for Edward's eyes. It still wasn't quite right. I sighed, knowing nothing would ever be quite right. His eyeshade was unique to him.
Over time, I had gathered enough sketches to have a decent outline of him on my wall. It was nowhere near as attractive as the real thing, but somehow he was still enthralling-even immortalised as mediocre art.
I trailed my eyes over the drawing, and imagined him coming to life. I could see his hands moving the way they had at the bar. As I pictured him in my mind, I felt my own hands begin to wander. Starting at my face, tracing a line slowly across my cheek and down onto my chest. They pushed up my t-shirt, eager to find the warm skin beneath, languidly tracing my stomach. Watching my sketch of Edward, and seeing him so easily in my head, made it easy to pretend that it was his hands exploring my body.
I imagined his hands dipping into the cup of my bra, causing me to moan with desire. His fingers rolled my nipples, gently squeezing them before he lowered his mouth to caress them with his tongue.
I blew out a shaky breath as my hands continued to explore against the backdrop of my mind's sweet imaginings. I felt his hands slide lower and lower, until they were brushing along my thighs, gently pushing my legs apart. Edward's not-quite-the-perfect-colour-yet eyes stared down at me approvingly as my fingers pushed away the soft cotton of my panties and brushed against my centre. They moved across my skin in long, unhurried strokes until my hips bucked against them.
I pushed softly against my entrance gently before slipping my fingers inside. I rocked my hips against my hand, staring at the lips of the Edward in my drawing. I imagined those lips, and the tongue they held captive, replacing my fingers. Licking, sucking, nibbling and finally…penetrating.
Oh my God!
I panted as my fantasies about his lips pushed me closer and closer to the edge. I pushed my fingers in further until I was right there. I was on his bar while Edward worked his magic between my legs.
Oh. My. Fucking. God!
I touched my thumb to my clit to bring my release, all the while chanting the name of the sex god who could do this to me without even being in the room. His face; his cheeks; his perfectly chiselled jaw; his long thick eyelashes; his long, thick... I clutched the sheet tightly between the fingers of my free hand, using the purchase gained to arch my back as I came undone.
I could have sworn mural-Edward smirked at me as I lost control and went hurtling into the oblivion he'd caused.
Just as my body began to spasm around my fingers in perfect, sweet, Edward-filled exhilaration, my mobile rang. I dropped my head and sighed at the sudden, and unwanted, interruption. Never one to leave a ringing phone unanswered, I rolled over and grabbed it with the hand that had held the sheets in a death-grip just moments earlier.
"Yes?" I snapped.
"Umm, Bella?" came a voice that sounded like ice cream dipped in honey and coated in chocolate; all cool, sweet and rich. I knew the owner immediately.
"Edward," I enthused. "Sorry... you caught me in the middle of something." I didn't think it was wise to elaborate that 'something' was pleasuring myself while fantasising about him and his strong fingers.
"I was wondering if you'd like to catch up this afternoon?" he asked, his voice dropping for a split second. I could hear he was nervous. The confident barkeeper-the man with the face that could launch a thousand orgasms-was nervous about asking me out?
"Mmm-hmm," I responded, not allowing my lips to part out of the fear that a loud squealing fan-girl sound would erupt from me.
A relieved sigh came down the line. "Well... seeing as though you know where Midnight Sun is, why don't we meet up there and find something to do from there? Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee?"
My heart dropped to my feet-an impressive feat considering I was still lying down-he wanted a coffee date. Everyone knew a coffee date wasn't a real date. It was a good excuse to leave if you didn't like the person. He mustn't have thought that much of me. I kicked myself for thinking that he could have held any amount of feeling for me. I mean...he was perfect, and I was...well I could hold my own, but I wasn't exactly going to win any modelling contracts anytime soon. I certainly would never inspire someone to draw a life-sized mural of me on their bedroom wall.
Mural-Edward looked down at me mockingly, while real-life Edward asked, "Bella, are you still there?"
Shit. I hadn't realised I had kept him hanging for so long. "Yeah," I answered quickly, silently pretending to ram the phone into my forehead a few times.
"Would it be better if I called you back?"
Shit. "No, now's perfect. Coffee's perfect. Everything sounds..."
"Perfect?" He chuckled.
"Yeah." I could feel the heat of my blush. Great. I wondered if a red glow was issuing from his end.
We talked awkwardly for another couple of minutes before agreeing on a time and hanging up.
I paced in front of Midnight Sun certain Edward wasn't going to show. He was over fifteen minutes late and the only reason I was waiting at all was, well, because it was Edward.
I reached the end of my designated pacing strip-between the Braille pathway and the wooden bench-before flipping around quickly, only to run straight into the sex-god-in-waiting himself.
"Sorry, I kept you," he said, before bringing his hands around to present me with a bunch of flowers.
If I thought behind-the-bar-serving-me-drinks Edward was hot, he had nothing on offering-me-flowers-sweetly Edward.
"I don't know what they are called," he admitted. "But they were bright and sunny."
"They reminded me of you," he added quietly, flashing me a smile.
My heart pounded loudly and my hands shook as I grabbed the gerberas from him. Coffee with my muse didn't sound so bad after all. At least it would give me one more opportunity to commit some of the smaller details of him to memory.
He offered me his arm, and I linked mine through it. My heart thudded as I walked alongside him. I kept glancing sideways at him, sure that he might disappear or be revealed as a vision at any moment.
Coffee led into a movie. A movie transitioned into dinner. Dinner quickly progressed through to drinks at Midnight Sun. I wasn't ready to let him go, so drinks ended with me asking Edward back to my place. When he turned me down, my heart sank.
"Bella, I've had a great time today," he assured me. "I just don't want to ruin what-"
I cut him off with a kiss. His lips were full and gentle, as smooth and soft as I had expected them to be as they found their rhythm against mine. My hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer to me. My fingers found purchase against the velvet thickness, and my nails scratched lightly along his scalp causing him to moan.
"Please?" I asked again, hoping to come off sexy but afraid that I just sounded needy.
He nodded, pulling me back in for another kiss. I felt his tongue tentatively sneak forward into my mouth. I accepted it readily, sucking on it lightly before stroking it with my own. He tasted as good as he looked.
I wanted him. Needed him. I grabbed his hand and practically ran from the Midnight Sun.
My apartment was only a five minute walk from the bar, but it was the longest five minutes of my life. His fingers were laced with mine as we walked, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
The conversation between us, which had been flowing steadily all through the afternoon and into the evening, had stopped. The air was still and the streets quiet. It was as if the night itself had stopped breathing in anticipation of what was to come. Edward not only inspired me, he inspired the entire world to pause as he passed.
Halfway home I was already picturing what Edward's babies would look like. A brood of little green-eyed children running riot and breaking hearts. I smiled at the image.
"You are so beautiful when you smile," he whispered.
I bumped him with my shoulder. "You're always beautiful," I murmured back.
He laughed. "Beautiful?" he asked. "Not manly or handsome?"
I turned to him, standing on tiptoes to look him in the eye. I clasped his face softly between my fingers. "You are those things as well..." I started, tracing his cheekbone softly with my thumb. "But yes, you are beautiful. There are women who would kill for these cheekbones."
He hummed as he leant into my touch.
He closed his eyes, and I traced one eyelid. "And these thick, luscious eyelashes. Models would murder people for those." I brought my lips up and pulled his head forward, planting a soft kiss on each eye.
His hands wrapped around my waist, his fingers finding a patch of skin at the base of my spine. I shivered at his touch, which seemed to rouse him. "How far is it to your place?" he asked breathlessly.
I bit my lip. "It's just up there." I pointed to my building. It was run down, but that meant it was affordable. Price was a big consideration when you only worked for minimum wage-even more so when you have no job and spent your days trying to perfect a mural of the one perfect example of a man you had met.
We covered the last of the distance swiftly. As soon as I had opened my door, we became a tangle of limbs and clothes. A silent agreement to continue had been made, and I knew there was no turning back. Internally, I was jumping for joy that I was finally getting my wish. Edward was going to enter my inner sanctum-and I wasn't referring to my bedroom.
By the time he pushed me onto the bed, only my bra and panties remained and I was already panting heavily.
"Are you sure, Bella?" he murmured against my skin, as he ran his hand up my side.
I nodded, sure that were I not beyond coherent words, I would have screamed, "Yes. Yes! YES!"
His hand crept slowly around my back as his mouth moved back onto mine. With two fingers, he snapped open the clasp of my bra and whipped it off, tossing it across the room.
He sighed as he glanced over my body. I fought every urge I had to cover myself under such intense scrutiny. Finally, he ducked his mouth down onto my nipple and sucked gently. The sensation was a thousand times more intense than what I had imagined just that morning.
I wriggled back on the bed, trying to escape, while pulling lightly on his head to hold him in place. My body cried out with confusion as I grew overwhelmed with emotion as Edward-sex-god, copper-haired, sweet, fuckable, Edward-lavished attention on my body.
His fingers dipped into my panties, brushing lightly against my core, and I cried out in pleasure. I gripped the sheets between my fingers to try to relieve some of the pressure building within my body.
"Oh, God!" I called out loudly as he pulled my panties down, tugging them gently off my legs.
He trailed small kisses across my stomach before dragging his tongue across my centre.
I wriggled further back in the bed, utterly consumed with desire for him. When his tongue stilled momentarily, I opened my eyes. They met his and he smiled at me from between my thighs. Just the sight of him...there...was enough to have me clasping the intricate iron patterns on my headboard for purchase.
He blew his breath lightly across my clit, and I threw my head back. My fingers slid through the headboard and onto the soft material behind. He continued to work me with his lips and tongue, before adding a finger into the mix.
I pulled roughly on the material in my hands as I came hard. I cried out loud, almost drowning out the tearing sound that ripped through the room as I pulled my hands into me. Purple material cascaded down over me from above. I barely registered a thing except the way my body felt utterly relaxed-as if a lifetime of tension had been erased with just a few minutes work from this wonderful man.
That thought sent me wading through the material to ensure he was still real, that it wasn't just another fantasy of Edward while mural-Edward watched on.
As I shifted the last of material off me, I took in Edward's stunned features and confusion set it. I turned to follow his line of sight. Wall-Edward was staring down at the two of us from his position on my wall.
"Bella?" Edward asked in a tone that was equal parts confusion, excitement, and fear. "Why do you have a painting of me on your wall?"
A/N: This is a little one-shot I wrote for the Beautiful Edward contest. I hope you enjoy. As per my last contest entry...I won't say I won't extend this... however not right now.
I hope you enjoy
and BTW it placed 2nd :)