It seems like these days all I can think about is you. Your strong arms wrapped around me while I sleep. I ache for that. Your husky voice, your smile, your strong hand curled around mine.
I know I don't even have a right to these thoughts. The guilt eats at me. Even in my dreams I hear the ticking of the clock.
But isn't it already too late? Hasn't it always been too late for us?
Sometimes I miss you so much, I feel like I have a hole in my gut. Sometimes I can't breathe.
But I chose him. Not you.
And he's...or was everything to me. I thought. Now all my carefully laid plans, all my impulsive decisions, everything I thought was right and real and good...
Is all jumbled up inside my head. Nothing makes sense anymore.
It's raining. I watch as the droplets plop against the window pane and slide down in lazy rivulets. He's been gone for three days, and instead of panic or longing all I feel is relief. The longer I sit here staring out the kitchen window, watching the sky darken with thicker rain clouds, aching for you, a desperate sort of feeling starts to come over me. It starts low in my gut, and expands through my limbs, tingling and shaking me until I'm suddenly up on my feet.
Three seconds later I'm out the door.
By the time I drive through the rain to your house and run to your front door, I'm soaked to the skin. I'm shaking and shivering from the cold summer rain, but I barely feel the chill puckering my skin.
When you open the door, your eyes flash with emotions. First confusion, then anger, then disbelief. Just as those deep dark pools melt into desire, I fling myself into your arms, and press my lips to yours.
The passion, the fire that suddenly ignites doesn't shock me. I don't gasp from surprise, instead I melt into your arms, I wrap my legs around your waist, and rake fingers through your hair.
Every part of this feels right.
Isn't that what you told me? That we'd be easy as breathing?
Now I really understand what you meant.
Your lips are hungry but tender. Your touch so perfect, claiming me and loving me in equal measure. Within in a few minutes, both our clothes are gone. My eyes are wide and locked on yours. The love you wear so transparently in your eyes for me brings a sudden rush of tears to my eyes.
"Bella," your husky voice says my name. And I can hear in that one word all the things you've ever said to me. All the promises, the declarations. Everything.
It's in this moment, when you slide inside me, when your lips softly part mine, that I become yours.
"Bella," you say again. And you whisper a thousand promises, a thousand more declarations into my skin. You kiss my neck, my breasts, and between my legs.
Everything about this moment is perfect. Somewhere distantly I feel guilty. I know Edward doesn't deserve this. But I can't argue with how right this feels. When I chose him, my heart was broken, but today, tonight, wrapped in your arms, I suddenly feel whole.
Maybe I'm still confused. I don't understand how I could love him so desperately, and how it's nothing compared to the intense passion, the deep connection that I feel with you.
I cling to your broad shoulders and lift my hips to meet your thrusts. As if you can feel the warring emotions inside me, you pull back, and lock your eyes on mine.
How can I leave you again after this? I can see it in your eyes, in your face, that it would destroy you.
Am I going to destroy him too?
"Bella," you murmur softly, leaning your forehead against mine. Your fingers slide between our sweaty bodies and touch me. In a matter of seconds, I'm screaming out your name as I feel like my whole word explodes.
It is morning. I know it. Even the soft dull light that filters in through your window is harsh enough to bring me back to reality. But I still can't bring myself to leave. And I don't know how to stay.
I love him. I love you.
Those are the only truths I know. I can't seem to reconcile what I thought I needed, wanted, couldn't live without with what happened last night.
I had chosen him.
Or had I? I never really gave you a chance, any opportunity. I never even let myself consider the possibility of you.
I don't know how to choose you.
I spent weeks pretending, lying to myself that I didn't love you. That you could never be enough to fill the empty space of him. But the moment your lips touched mine and I felt your hot hands on my skin, I knew it wasn't true.
Still, I chose him.
You reach for me. Even in your sleep you are always touching me. You're lying on your stomach, your face in the pillow, your left arm thrown over my body, your heat scorching my skin.
I feel so torn. I love him, Jake. I do. I don't know if you really even believe that. But it's true. The instant spark and connection I felt with him was like a blazing inferno that totally consumed me and my life. And even though the flames have died down, the memory of it still burns so bright that I still feel it lingering in my veins.
Your hand slowly moves up my bare torso, your breathing still deep and rhythmic. I never knew how much I craved your touch. And now I am not sure I can live without it.
When I open my eyes, your lips are ghosting across my skin, and my whole world has shifted. I feel the worry and the fear, the desperation and longing in every kiss, in your every touch. I can see the questions, the promises, the words you want to say in your eyes.
But instead of voicing any of these things, you kiss me. Long and deep.
You make love to me with everything inside you. You give me every single part of you. Even your tears.
I cradle your face with my hands and stare into your dark watery eyes. A million images flicker across my mind. If he was a raging burning inferno at first, you've been like a slow burn that has claimed me, lit me from within, and seeped into my bones. Every kiss fans the flame.
Can I let him go?
I don't know how many minutes have passed, when you whisper, soft and low, "Please Bella, give me a chance."
And I don't know if it's what you said, or what happened last night and this morning, or the look in your eyes and the way your voices cracked on my name, or the raw guttural honesty, but...
I kiss you. I press my lips solidly against yours. Just as you go to deepen the kiss, I pull back, our lips still brushing against one another and whisper, "Yes."
And when you make love to me again, you aren't just asking for me to stay, but claiming me, telling me.