********READ THIS FIRST!********
This is a (silly) fic of Jadalulu's fic "Fold Your Wings". If you haven't read it yet, go with all speed to ( http:/www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/s/6636749/1/Fold_Your_Wings ), but heed the warnings: it's not your run-of-the-mill, sugary sweet E/B story. He's called Roughward for a reason, ladies. It's not a soft and fluffy blueberry muffin. It's more like sexy rock candy. It may not be to everyone's taste, but if you like the prologue, you'll get drawn into her brilliant writing and unique characters just like i did.
That being said, this is a ridiculous fic of that story. If you haven't read Fold Your Wings, this won't make sense. Although truthfully, it doesn't make sense anyway.
Thanks to Jadalulu for letting me be crazy with her characters, and to EdwardsBloodType for the inspiration and encouragement. They are both awesome times a million.
If there is such a thing as ridic fic, you're looking at it. It's meant to be funny. If your sense of humor is in the shop, please don't get cranky on me.
Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. Jadalulu owns Fold Your Wings. And Fold your Wings pretty much owns me.
Although I had become used to his calls coming at strange hours of the day, seeing Edward's name on my phone's screen seemed an odd contrast to the day's brilliant blue sky and warm sunshine.
"Yes?" I answered. There was no need to bother with pleasantries like "hello" when they were never returned.
"My place, Isabella. 3:30." He hung up.
The now-familiar mix of trepidation and anticipation swirled in my belly. It was almost 3:00 already ... I'd have to be quick. I hurried to my car, threw my purchases in the back, and drove a little more recklessly than I should have to get home and shower before meeting Edward. Wait. "Meeting" was something normal couples do. I meant "serving."
The shower was quick and unsatisfying, and I barely had time to throw on a tea length white sundress with floral embroidery at the hem and bustline before I was out the door again. My wet chestnut hair shimmered a little in the sunlight as I rushed up the stairs to his building, barely acknowledging the doorman as I flew to the elevator.
3:30 exactly. I had made it. I was a well-trained little pet.
Before I even was able to bring my knuckles to the door, it swung open, rattling me. Edward was on the phone, humming his assent to someone as he gestured me in with a glint of steel in his piercing eyes.
I stepped forward into the living room and stood there motionless, waiting for my next command with my eyes on my white patent-leather maryjanes.
"It makes no difference, Jenks. No, YOU listen ..." his voice was hissing with the intensity of his anger, "I don't care who you have to fuck to get it done, just get it done. Or you'll just be the first fucking head to roll, do you understand?"
He turned to me and spoke in a voice so pointed, I jumped a little.
"The fuck are you waiting for? Bedroom, now. Lose the dress."
Startled, my feet stayed anchored to the floor for a few seconds before I walked toward the bedroom in long strides, just catching the end of Edward's conversation.
"Then I don't know what to tell you. Do it or find someone who will. You don't want to fuck with me, Jenks, I assure you."
I wasn't sure I wanted to fuck with Edward either. I'd seen him angry before, but this was a new level of livid. I reminded myself, I had a safeword. If I got scared, I could say "red" and be out the door, on my way back to my life and away from this sinister arrangement that constantly had me foundering between terror and arousal.
I threw my dress over a chaise and stood waiting in just my light pink bra and panties.
Safeword. Safeword. Safeword.
Even though I was trying to calm myself, I began to sweat as the anxiety twisted its icy fingers in my gut. Was ireally so scared that Edward would hurt me? Or was it more terrifying to think that if I safeworded, I'd have to leave and never find myself back here, in his bedroom, ever again?
Before I could dwell on that, he entered the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He walked over to the chaise where my dress lay, fingering its colorful embroidery.
"Where did you get this piece of shit? The JC Penney's kids department?"
He was instantly inches from me, and lifted his arm to my face so fast I had to stifle a gasp as he held my jaw forcefully, just barely shy of causing actual pain.
"The fuck do you spend my money on, Isabella? Because this dress belongs back where you found it in the K-Mart Clearance bin. Can't you spend more than $3.99 on your apparel, you silly little slut?"
I was stunned into silence. I really liked the dress; it had been from a small boutique where they made elegant handmade clothes to custom order. I hadn't even been in a K-Mart since I was a child.
"You know what your problem is, Isabella?"
He released my jaw, but brought his face down, so close to mine, that I felt no less controlled. It was a struggle to keep my sight trained downwards when my instincts told me to look up, into his dark eyes, and gauge the fury there, to see how afraid I really should be.
"Your problem is that you don't really think you're a whore."
With that he spun me around, and with a light push, I was facedown on the bed, hips at the edge, arms folded under my chest.
He knelt behind me, between my legs, and his body was instantly on top of me, pinning me. Inhaling his smell deeply, I closed my eyes.
I knew this place. This precipice. I could fall, or I could scramble up the rocky edge to solid ground.
I chose, as I always had, to fall.
His voice was venomous in my ear, and I was only vaguely aware of the clinking of his belt buckle as he took his pants off.
"You don't think you're a whore, so you don't have to dress like a whore, right?"
He kicked his fallen pants off his legs, and I felt his arousal pressed up against the back of my satin panties, warm and completely unforgiving. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed it roughly against my sex with his right hand, as the other pulled my panties down and away from my body, causing them to dig painfully into the front of my thighs. He stopped and left them just a few inches lower, so that I was not only fully exposed to him, but the panties kept me from moving my legs as well.
"Well, that's where you'd be wrong, Isabella."
His fingers played roughly in my folds. I knew he wasn't checking my wetness by the irreverent speed and pressure. He was demonstrating his ownership.
My heart pounded as he pressed himself to my opening, his left arm snaking around my waist tightly as he slowly inched himself inside of me.
"This is mine. I've paid for it. And that makes you -"
Suddenly, he thrust hard, seating himself fully, almost painfully deep within me. I battled to keep from screaming at the intrusion.
"What? Let's see if you've been paying attention. What does that make you?" his voice sounded almost amused
He withdrew and thrust again. It was forceful enough to slam the bed that my upper body was resting on against the wall with a thud.
He picked up a punishing rhythm, never pulling more than halfway out of me, as he brought his chest down to my skin, pressing into my back.
"Say it. Out loud," he whispered into my ear.
This was a trick. I knew he didn't want to hear me say it. He wouldn't fool me so easily.
But suddenly, his right hand was reaching around my hips for the moist bud of flesh at the front of my sex, finding it swollen and eager. I wasn't expecting this move; he'd never intentionally tried to increase my pleasure in this act, and before I could stop it, a low moan escaped my lips.
He chuckled, pinching and twisting the needy flesh.
"Sounds like a goddamn whore to me."
Before he would allow my pleasure to build any further, his fingers were gone, and they dug into my hips as he continued his pounding onslaught.
For a moment, I was lost in the thrumming pleasure of his body, letting his flesh dominate mine completely. It was almost like entering a trance; like the moments before sleep when my mind is finally quiet and I am ready to be overtaken, exhausted and compliant.
It took me a moment to realize that his pace was slowing. The sound of our skin slapping together, driven by lust, was being replaced by a softer sound, like breath exhaled hard and full upon falling. Like a sigh.
Abruptly, his flesh was removed from mine, his warm skin gone, and the choking noise erupted into a strangled sob.
Was this a test? Had he finished? I waited obediently, eyes on the bed, for the click of the bathroom door that would dismiss me.
It didn't come.
Unsure, I slowly turned to look covertly over my shoulder, and beheld a sight never in a million years could have expected.
Edward Cullen was weeping.
I had never been more bewildered in my life.
Staring in stunned silence, I imagined what I cold possibly have done to upset him. I hadn't said a word since arriving, had obeyed his orders directly, had willingly opened my very flesh to him - nothing unusual there. His phone call had been heated, but he hadn't seemed scared or distraught, just angry. And Edward was certainly fluent in angry.
A single teardrop fell from between the hands covering his face, landing on the thigh that had been so recently pressed up against my own. Its fall broke the spell of subservience over me, and I slid from the bed, pulling my panties back on and approaching him cautiously.
It took a moment for me to dare to break his no-touching prohibition, but eventually, slowly, I touched a tentative hand to his shoulder, expecting him to bat it away. He didn't, but my touch evoked another sob from his chiseled chest.
How do you comfort a man made of stone?
I tried hard to remember how I would act if a friend or co-worker burst into tears in front of me.
"Edward," I intoned softly, "what … what can I do?"
His shoulders fell. "Nothing. There's nothing anyone can do." he growled, his voice hoarse from crying.
"Nothing anyone can do about what?" I asked.
"About ME!" He suddenly erupted into a frustrated shout, his hands falling from their station shielding his face, exposing tear stained red cheeks. Set against the wild blue of his eyes, they made him look so vulnerable, so breakable. It was difficult to reconcile this man with the one who so routinely degraded and possessed me.
His eyes slowly lifted to meet mine.
"Isabella, I'm not … " he choked back another cry. "I'm not the man you think i am. I have … a secret."
It was the strangest thing he'd ever said to me. Since we began our arrangement, I had assumed there was something terrible in his past that had turned him into what he was … a cruel and embittered fallen angel. I had never imagined he would one day reveal it to me with tears in his eyes.
I had a nagging feeling that the arrangement was over, and things between Edward and I would never be the same again.
"We all have secrets, Edward," I spoke softly, daring to rub his shoulder with the hand I had rested there.
It felt so strange, to be comforting the last man on the planet I'd ever have thought would break down. My aching sex and the cool air against my bare skin were all that reminded me that I wasn't dreaming.
"Not like this." His voice was a scratchy whisper, gritty with emotion. He looked so young, so afraid, like a child who'd lost his mother in a store. Something protective in me flared brightly, and I knew I was the only one who could calm him down.
"What about your family?" I offered. "I know you haven't exactly been keeping close with them but they miss you ... it doesn't matter what the secret is, they'll always love you."
He scoffed."They don't love me," he paused to wipe his snotty nose on the sleeve of his blue button-down business shirt. "They can't love what I don't show."
At this, his body was wracked with wrenching sobs, and I only hesitated a second before wrapping my arms around him and holding him close. He folded into me limply, exhausted from this unprecedented outpouring of tension. His shaking body curled inside my arms, I looked around the room wildly, as if something I spotted could possibly help me. I thought for a minute on how ridiculous that idea was.
My borderline abusive, $500 sex partner is having a breakdown. Oh, there's that silver picture frame. Now everything will be okay.
Over several minutes, his sobbing slowed and his breathing began to calm. I stroked his soft hair, throwing myself into the role of comforting lover for just a few more moments. I knew this was goodbye. There was no way he'd want to see my face again and be reminded of this difficult moment.
He sat up, pulling himself gently from my arms. Wiping the tear tracks from his slightly mottled face, he looked into my eyes and i was struck by the depth of their gentleness.
He was disarmed now. He looked like an entirely different man. I blinked hard, smiling, almost not recognizing the handsome, weary, vulnerable face.
For a moment, I wondered if I could love him. Someone like this. Someone broken like me.
The thought flew from my mind as he sat up straight, adjusting his shirt cuffs, coughing his voice back to some semblance of normal.
"I'm very sorry for what you've witnessed here, Isabella."
"That's ok. I ... " I shrugged.
He stood up and wiped his face with a series of tissues. "Your money's by the door. You can go now."
I stayed where I had been sitting on the floor. I was almost afraid to leave him like this. And truthfully, I wanted to know what the secret was that had him so torn up inside. What could bring a man like E.C. Asshat to his knees?
He looked down into my face, and I could see he still hadn't put his mask of ferocity on. His brilliant eyes shone down into mine for long moments, until finally he released his breath in a deep exhale, and relief began to creep into his expression.
"You're still here."
He said it without authority, without vitriol, as just an observation.
"I'm still here, Edward."
He sniffled as he unbuttoned his shirt. "You didn't run."
"Why would I run?"
He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned away from me. His shirt fell from his broad, sculpted shoulders and he walked to the closet. He stood there, bare chested, choosing a new shirt.
"I know what I've been to you, Isabella," his voice was low. Despite his newfound vulnerability, there was an edge of danger to his words. He stopped looking at his shirts and turned to face me.
"And yet, after all this, you're still here."
I didn't know what to say. I looked up at him, pleading ... Let me in, Edward. Just this one time. Let someone in.
He turned back to his closet, hiding his face from me.
"Do you have any idea what it feels like to live a lie?"
I thought hard. I'd been through a lot of unpleasant business in my short life; I'd been broken and beaten, demeaned, demoralized, humiliated ... but I'd stayed honest. I'd never been able to lie well enough to keep it up long.
He didn't wait for my response.
He abandoned his search for a shirt, and walked over to stand in the light from window.
"It's exhausting and terrifying, and it makes me cold."
The bright sun streamed in through the glass, pouring over his skin like warm honey - a sharp contrast to the dark moment we were caught in together.
"I wonder ... if I could only be myself, for just a moment ... if i could let you see me as I truly am, if I could then feel peace. For the first time."
"Please," the word fell from my lips before I could think of what I was saying.
I was still kneeling on the floor where I had been cradling him moments ago. It struck me that my posture was that of one praying, begging; supplicative. He stood tall, across the room, his back to me. He was posed as the one in control, dominant, free to ignore me. Although it was typical for us, it was all wrong for this moment. I would have to rise, to stand beside him as an equal, if I was going to get him to open up.
Rising to my feet, I strode over to him and slowly, deliberately, raised my hand to his shoulder to turn him to face me. The eyes that met mine were hollow and sad.
"Let me see you, Edward," I whispered, fully prepared for his rebuke.
It never came.
He looked down, debating whether the risk could possibly be worth the reward. He needed more from me.
In a rare moment of daring, I brought my index finger under his chin, tilting his face up to meet my eyes.
"You have to know, Edward," I paused to swallow hard, "you have to know that you have nothing to fear from me. I could never hurt you."
He blinked hard, knitting his eyebrows. I could see how painful it was for him to consider opening himself up to me.
"If you want me to walk out of here and leave your life forever, I will," I spoke, more confidently now, "but if you want to take this chance to open up and let someone in ... someone who won't run ... Edward, I'm here."
His eyes crinkled slightly and a quick, but definite glint of hope crossed their depths.
"You mean it? You won't run?"
"No matter what, Edward."
He inhaled long and deep. A spark of something burned under his expression, something almost playful or excited. I must have done it. I'd broken through his wall. The thought was heartening as well as frightening, for whatever secret he held, it must be something desperately tragic to have turned him so fully enclosed, so dark and self-contained.
The briefest hint of a smile crossed his face before he turned quickly on his heel.
He left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Not knowing how long I was supposed to wait, I sat on the bed and tried not to contemplate the horrible things he might be about to reveal to me ... he might have been abused in horrific ways as a child; although the rest of the Cullens seemed kind enough, perhaps he suffered at the hands of other children or adults. Maybe he'd survived some terrifying incident like a plane crash, scarred by the horrors he'd seen and plagued with survivor's guilt. I tried to steel my nerves as I waited, promising him silently that I wouldn't run, no matter what he told me.
But nothing could have prepared me for what appeared in the doorway.
A six foot tall pink plush bunny, with long, furry pink ears. And Edward Cullen's face.
Holding a colorful basket in one hand and an oversized prop carrot in the other.
I had no idea what to think, let alone say. I was shocked to the core. It occurred to me that it was lucky I'd already been sitting when he walked in.
"This is what I am, Isabella."
His voice was steely, sure. It was the voice of the man I'd met so many weeks ago, confident, charismatic, and clear. I could instantly tell how at home he felt in the suit and it made me wonder how often he wore it when he was alone.
"This is why I struggle so hard with myself. Why I am driven to prove my professionalism, my worth, my manhood ... in such unforgiving ways."
He took a bite of the carrot.
Guess it's not a prop.
"That's the biggest carrot I've ever seen," I said, my mouth somehow speaking without my brain's involvement.
He breathed a cocky chuckle.
"You want to take a bite, Isabella?" He sauntered towards me slowly, the plush fur making a strange zipping sound as he walked.
I didn't know what to do. I was still in shock. I had been better prepared for him to confess that he had been born a woman than that he liked to dress up in a fluffy pink bunny suit.
The instinct to leave battled with the instinct to demonstrate acceptance for his unconventional lifestyle choice. As they fought, I sat motionless, watching him approach.
He reached the end of the bed and it became clear to me that he was nude inside the nylon suit. His erection was prominent beneath the synthetic fluff and I now knew, without a doubt, that I would never see a more disturbing sight for the rest of my life.
He gently lifted his carrot to my lips. Without knowing what else to do, I took a nibble. It was indeed real.
Who the fuck keeps carrots this big around anyway?
Right. A billionaire with a bunny suit.
"This is the only time I can be myself," he said, the hardness in his voice starting to melt, "this is my only safe place."
I simply stared while i chewed the small bite of carrot.
It couldn't be. Was this some elaborate joke? Could he be testing me?
"Around Easter, I see so many of them ... at the mall, on TV ... right out in the open, and it gets so difficult for me to understand why ... why I need this, and why I can never have it."
His huge plush paw stroked my hair and I had to choke down a wave of nausea.
I sat in silence another minute, trying to reconcile this Edward with the one who had been threatening someone on the phone and calling me a poorly dressed hooker just minutes earlier.
It wasn't that bad, was it? I mean, he didn't have a closet full of tiny skulls, or a diaper fetish.
At least, I didn't think he did. I couldn't see beneath the bunny suit, but I was pretty sure the erection that was still poking out at me would have been concealed within a diaper, if he had been wearing one.
There's a sentence I never thought I'd have to say.
Seemingly reading my mind, he pulled the suit's zipper up from the bottom slowly, exposing his naked penis to me, demonstrating that thankfully, he wasn't diapered underneath. I caught a brief glimpse of bright cheerful color inside the suit, and was unsettled to discover that he'd shaved his testicles and painted them in festive Easter hues.
This had now become the new most disturbing sight I'd ever seen.
"I still want you, Isabella."
My eyes widened. He couldn't possibly want us to finish what we'd started, only with him in the bunny suit, could he?
Did he just twitch his nose at me?
Words failed to form in my brain. Lips and teeth made no sounds.
He mistook my silence for assent.
His paw on my hair urged my mouth forward and before i knew it, something was being gently but insistently pushed inside.
It was soft and grainy, melting sweetness over my tongue.
It wasn't his penis. It was a Pink Marshmallow Peep.
The next thing pressed up to my lips was, in fact, his penis.
As he pushed himself inside slowly, I fought to swallow the sandy, melting marshmallow quickly as I took him into my mouth. My eyes closed and some kind of instinct took over as I closed my lips around him, sucking deeply. I felt my body responding with urgency, rekindling the fire that had been interrupted by his breakdown earlier. My body apparently was unconcerned at this new side of Edward, and wanted him regardless of his peculiarities. It ached for him, any way that he would have it.
Popping my mouth off the head, I swirled my tongue under the ridge and made long strokes down to the base, wetting the shaft. His groan of satisfaction was louder, more genuine than any sound my body had evoked from him previously.
Christ, he's getting off on this like never before!
Taking him deeply into my throat and moaning around his girth, I was rewarded with two oversized pink paws on either side of my head, guiding my mouth roughly as he loosed a feral growl of lusty abandon.
After just a few pumps, he stepped back, withdrawing himself from my mouth.
"On the bed, Isabella."
I complied wordlessly, laying back on the bed with my legs apart, inviting him in.
I can't believe the things I'll do for an orgasm.
"No, on your knees," he ordered, stroking his length with a soft pink paw. "Like bunnies," he added.
Flipping over, I bent my knees up and resisted the urge to look behind me at the giant pink fluffball approaching me from behind. He stroked the skin on my hips with his fuzzy paws and leaned down so his entire furry chest was pressed into the bare skin of my back. With just a soft hum, he buried himself inside me once again.
His thrusts were short and fast. He panted with the exertion and placed wet, intermittent kisses and nibbles along my neck and shoulders. His proximity brought with it a musky smell, and I imagined he must be sweating quite profusely in the suit.
"Come for me, Isabella," he begged in a rough, throaty voice. "Come for me, just like this."
There was no way in hell. I wasn't getting adequate stimulation, and my mind was still reeling from his bizarre revelation. But I was afraid he would interpret my lack of response as a rejection, and perhaps retreat again into his bitter, domineering self. I couldn't let that happen. He deserved to feel freedom, to feel like he was accepted. I could make one person in this world happy, for just this moment, and I would not let this opportunity pass.
"Ohh ... ohhhhh," I keened, stiffening my legs and doing a few Kegels.
"Yessssss," he hissed, his pace increasing.
"Are you ready? Are you ready, baby? Here comes Peter Cottontaaaaiiilllll ..."
My eyes went wide and my brows furrowed as he pumped once, twice more and stilled, panting hard in my ear.
Long moments passed and I felt him soften within me, not withdrawing, just holding still.
When he spoke, his voice was icicles.
"The fuck is wrong with you, Isabella?"
Confusion isn't a strong enough word. I was utterly dumbstruck.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You perverted little slut," he hissed, straightening and pulling out. He tucked himself back into the suit and zipped up very, very carefully.
My mouth dropped in shock.
"I knew you'd let me fuck you for money, but this?" he gestured to himself. "This is fucked up. You should be ashamed of yourself."
He climbed off the bed and stood, wiping some of my wetness off the pink plush suit near his crotch.
"Get the fuck out, Isabella. You disgust me."
He turned for the bathroom and I heard that click of the latch closing, the sound that meant I was dismissed. Only this time, it also meant my trust had been misplaced and my faith in humanity set back by light years.
Fighting tears, I pulled my dress on and stepped into my shoes. I didn't bother to smooth my hair or check my face in the mirror; I just wanted out of this bizarre nightmare. Sprinting for the door, I grabbed the envelope of cash, stuffing it into my purse, and paused.
This was the last time I'd ever be in Edward Cullen's apartment.
Impulsively, I dug a lighter from my purse. Standing on a lovely and expensive looking burgundy upholstered chair, I flicked the lighter and held the flame under the apartment's fire sprinkler sensor. After several seconds, a loud beeping started, accompanied by a rush of cold water from several sprinklers throughout the apartment.
I snorted a laugh as I slammed the door behind me.
Fucking asshole bunny.
Forgot to mention i also don't own Barcelona.
It was all EBT's idea!
Thanks for reading.
Have a happy Easter!