Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
Get Out of This Town
Get to the ocean 'fore I run too low / "You're A Wolf," by Sea Wolf
Even in his sleep, Jacob senses when Bella shifts to slip out of her bed. Not so strange, considering how small it is. Far too small for him, so with Bella there, space is tight. Not that he minds having her pressed up against his naked body.
His arms enfold her, and one leg cocks over hers, keeping her with him. "Not yet," he mumbles.
"I have to, Jake. The plane leaves in six hours and I'm not even packed yet."
"Throw some underwear and shirts in a bag. Takes five minutes."
She elbows him in the ribs. "You are such a guy."
"Yep." He doesn't even bother faking pain in response to the light tickle her nudge produces. "And I'm right." Whatever protest she was about to verbalize is muffled by his mouth. Gently, he rolls them, pulling her onto him. He only breaks the kiss long enough to tell her, "I love you, Bells," looking her in the eye as he does so.
He doesn't let her go until he's showed her in every possible way he knows how.
(we'll make her regret this) (...)
Hell will freeze over before Jacob lets the demon inside take control again. Bella is allowed to go visit her mom and Jacob will just deal with it—fucked up intruders, be damned.
In spite of Jacob's best efforts to go about his daily routine—be it patrols, chores around the house or lazy lounging when he runs out of motivation or obligations—not even one week without Bella, and he's all but climbing the walls again.
(told you) (oh will you shut up)
At least he leaves the furnishings alone. And the new cell phone, since the ancient relic in the kitchen leaves him little privacy to talk to Bella when she calls. He can't help it, but those calls are the highlight of his day, and without them he'd go insane—like the state of his mind wasn't already fucked.
Bella shifts restlessly in the lumpy full-size bed, staring at the ceiling. Sure, it's only nine o'clock back home, so this is pretty early for her (especially since she started dating a werewolf who keeps odd hours). That's not the real reason she's awake, though. Ever since she stepped onto the jetway at Sea-Tac, she's been worried about Jake. After the one time she let too many days go by in a row without seeing him, she's been careful, careful not to work too many nights in a row, careful not to go anywhere without calling first to give him a heads-up so he doesn't make himself crazy again. Careful. But when Renée called to tell her that she'd bought the ticket to Jacksonville during an amazingly cheap online promotion, and the only catch was that she would have to come on a Thursday and leave on a Saturday, she accepted before she thought. Forks isn't usually that rainy during the summertime, but she's never hot anymore (except when she's with Jake), and she misses being hot.
Now, though, it's Monday, and the restlessness that's keeping her from falling asleep is only rivaled by the insistent throb between her legs. She'd like to believe she's not completely dependent on what she and Jacob do, but she's starting to wonder whether or not she's just been fooling herself on that score. Unlike Jacob, she can still take care of herself even when they're not together—poor guy, he tried to explain it to her but all this imprinting stuff is impossibly contradictory and despite being good with weird she doesn't get that part—but it leaves her feeling empty and vaguely dissatisfied so she doesn't bother most of the time. She's pretty sure that she won't be able to sleep if she doesn't do something, though.
She reaches for her phone and checks the time. 12:17 a.m. She texts Jake: AYT?
Less than thirty seconds later, her phone vibrates. Yeah. Miss u.
Well, maybe she doesn't have to do it completely alone. A blush climbs her face at the thought of what she's about to suggest, but this is Jake. If there's anybody who's safe to be dirty with, it's him. Still, at the last minute she chickens out and opts to ask him to make the first move. Miss you too. Call me?
The phone starts buzzing almost immediately. Bella smiles as she hits the button. "Hi."
She sighs with relief as some of the tension seeps from her muscles at the sound of his voice. "How are you?"
His tone is determinedly even when he replies, "Fine. Are you having fun with your mom?"
Bella ignores this inconsequentiality to ask, "How are you really, Jake?"
There's a long silence, during which she can practically see the misery and self-directed rage battle it out on his face. He can never hide anything from her, not for long, and distance doesn't affect that.
"Not great," Jake finally admits.
Bella frowns, picking at the threadbare elastic of her panties. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
It is, though. Jacob's been blaming himself since the moment he started turning into a wolf, but he's a neophyte when it comes to this. Bella is the master of self-flagellation. If she'd stayed home, Jake wouldn't be hurting right now.
There's a slight scuffling in the background. She imagines him walking around his too-small room, kicking a laundry basket out of the way. Her heart aches. Then she thinks of what would happen if she were there... and the ache moves lower.
"I have an idea," she says shyly, "that might help."
"Help?" A low, slightly bitter chuckle. "I'm all ears, Bells."
Okay. Here goes nothing. "What are you doing right now?"
A pause. "Pacing." His tone is both wry and reluctant. "Kinda having trouble sitting still."
So she was right. He probably hasn't slept since she left. "You should lie down."
"I've tried, I swear. I just get right back up again."
It probably doesn't help that he hasn't gotten a new bed yet. He won't admit why, but Bella knows it's because they can't afford it. She's been trying to think of a way to help out in a way that won't offend both him and Billy, since she's the reason the last one got destroyed.
"I'm laying down," she offers.
That earns her a chuckle. "Got over the jet lag that fast?"
"No, I'm not tired. I'm just... laying down." Bella's fingers skirt just a little slower, her fingernails dipping below the waistband of her underwear. "I'm a little restless, actually."
"I know the feeling."
She swallows and lowers her voice. "Yeah." The throb between her legs gets stronger. "I think you do."
The shuffling in the background comes to an abrupt halt. She imagines Jacob's expression as he catches on... then she hears his breath hitch. "Oh."
Bella can't help it. She grins.
Okay, Bells cannot be thinking what he thinks she's thinking. Except, Jacob really hopes she is, because he was already painfully hard to begin with, and at the moment he's got it even worse.
"Now are you lying down?" she wants to know, and he immediately collapses on the battered remains of his mattress, pulling the elastic of his boxers out of the way almost before he's prone.
"Yes," he barely remembers to answer.
"Good." She giggles. "I feel kind of strange doing this. Like embarrassed, I mean."
"No no no," he interjects, half-frantic. "No, you shouldn't feel embarrassed, you're pretty much the best girl ever for doing this. Swear to God."
(Pussy. You let her go.)
(Shut the fuck up. In about ten minutes you'll get what you want.)
She makes a particular noise, the same whimper-moan that she makes every time he first brushes across her clit when they're together, and his hand closes around his cock before he realizes he's reached for it. Fuck. This had better work or he doesn't know what he'll do. Maybe turn into a Tasmanian Devil instead of a werewolf and tear the forest up instead of chasing leeches through it.
Even though he knows what she's doing, he asks anyway, and his voice has gone hoarse. "What're you doing?"
In spite of the ache and the simmering fury (she left me left me didn't even ask before she just took off), he snorts a little with laughter. "Thinking?"
"Yes," she says defensively. "About... that one time. In the shower."
Any desire to laugh fades away. His hand starts to move up and down slowly. "Which time in the shower?" He quickly flits through the memories—they were all good, but there was one time that was particularly—
"When you, um, bent me over and made me hold onto my ankles?" she offers, breathless, although he can't tell whether it's with lust or embarrassment. Knowing his Bells, probably both.
(Okay, maybe five minutes.)
"Holy shit. Yeah, that time was awesome," he agrees, pumping faster. "What was your favorite part?"
Bella hesitates at the question. She's already so far out of her comfort zone that she might as well be naked in a snowstorm. But then she hears him groan throatily and feels a corresponding rush of wetness beneath her own fingers, and that makes her braver. "I liked the whole thing, but, uh, I really liked before you turned me around, when you were doing that thing with my nipples?"
"You like that?" He sounds a little incredulous, and she frowns.
"Couldn't you tell?" One hand lifts to slide under her t-shirt, and her fingers fasten on her nipple just like his did. Oh God. She whimpers again as she pulls and kneads, roughly the way he did that night. (It was one of those times when she pushed his tolerance a little too far—three days is the outside of his limits as far as her being absent goes. She wonders now why she didn't think about that when her mom called to tell her about the ticket. I know how much he needs me. Selfish.)
"No. I mean, yeah, I could, but..."
"But what?" She digs her fingers into the roundness of her flesh, hard enough that it might leave bruises the way it did last time. The pleasure-pain is something she's come to associate with Jacob. It's good.
"I just... I figured it was too much, that time."
Bella chews on her lip for a moment, holding back a moan. Her room is in the basement of the split-level house, but Phil and Renee won't have gone to bed yet. Better not be too loud. "It wasn't."
A muffled mmph from the phone. It's the sound Jacob makes when she deep-throats him without warning. It's one of her favorite sounds in the world. "I'll... uh... I'll remember that."
"Good." She's almost embarrassingly wet now. Wet enough to add a second finger down below, and then a third, stroking up and down between her folds, rubbing irregularly across her clit the way Jake does it when he's too eager for finesse. That eagerness is one of the biggest turn-ons she's ever felt.
Maybe it's not fair, to benefit so much from something that he hates and can't control, but she loves how much he needs her.
She's worked up enough now that her shyness has faded, and it takes nothing to brazenly ask, "What was your favorite part of the shower?"
Jacob has to take his hands off himself, and he wants to weep with relief. He's having to work not to come. Thank fucking God.
Bella liked it that he had grabbed her tits and squeezed them so hard that he'd left bright red marks on her milk-white skin. She'd liked it.
Okay, yeah, he remembers that she came, but thanks to the imprint he can make her come easily, that didn't mean she liked it, but apparently she did...
(of course she liked it rough she's yours isn't she?)
(not as rough as you want it, asshole)
(that's not how i remember it)
He shoves the fucked-up intruder out of his mind. "Sorry, Bells, what did you say?"
"I asked what your favorite part of that time was."
Her tits. Her ass. The way the water had run down her back in little rivers... "How tight you were," he manages to say, remembering how it had actually been almost hard to slide into her, and the friction when he finally did. How he'd felt every little tremor and squeeze...
...shit, he might shoot his load without even touching himself. Normally that would be embarrassing, but right now he's just so fucking grateful.
"Really? It was different than usual?"
"Yeah." There's no help for it; if he's gonna come, he's gonna do it properly. He wraps his hand back around himself—wow, he's not sure he's ever been this hard, there's gotta be a point where it's unhealthy or something, but it's not like he can just see a doctor and explain that his cock is addicted to his supernaturally declared soul mate—and strokes forcefully. "The position, I guess. Or... or something. It just... uh, worked. It felt really fucking good, Bells."
He almost explodes when he hears her quiet whimper.
Bella is suddenly really, really grateful for those six months of ballet lessons when she was eight, and the flexibility that has always remained as a result. It wasn't easy to stay in the position he put her, that time, and the water running down her back and into her nose and mouth made things interesting, but if it made him feel that good then it was so worth it. Well, and the orgasm he gave her made it pretty worthwhile too. "It was really good," she agrees, speeding up her movements and taking advantage of that flexibility to push a little deeper with her fingers. "Oh, God, Jake, I came so hard, I'm so close—"
"Oh fuck, honey, me too." His voice has gone thick and deep. She knows that particular timbre: he's about to come, is right on the edge. Before she can come up with the right thing to say to push him over, he says roughly, "I want you to come first, Bella. Go on, honey. Come for me."
As if her body's trained to act on his orders (and really, it kind of is at this point), she trembles into her orgasm, clamping down with her thighs around her hands and gritting her teeth as she moans between them, "Oh, oh, oh, yes, Jake, yes..." until she can't talk anymore and just whines a little instead. On the other end of the line, she hears his rhythmic, muted noises as he comes too, and it makes her smile with satisfaction even though she's completely exhausted.
As soon as the high fades, though, her throat closes up and her eyes fill with tears. She fumbles for the phone and croaks, "Jake?"
There's complete quiet on the other end for a long moment, and then a flat, "Yeah."
"I just..." She folds her lips in on each other, trying to figure out what to tell him, and at last settles for, "Um... do you feel better?" Because I sure as hell don't right now.
"Well, I'm pretty sure I can walk again without humiliating myself," he tries to joke, but it's a feeble attempt.
The emptiness in her chest—different from the hole Edward left behind, but there all the same—spreads. The corners of her mouth feel weighted down with sadness. "I miss you. So much." When he doesn't answer, she adds, "This was a terrible idea. Maybe I should talk to my mom and ask her if she can change the ticket—"
"No, Bells, don't do that—"
"No, it's fine, I never should have done this to you. It was so selfish. All I need to do is maybe charge the fee on my credit card—"
"That's... you shouldn't do that, Bella—"
"I can't stand to hear you this way. I'm just going to do it, first thing in the morning—"
"For fuck's sake, Bella, just stay there. I'm not a fucking baby, goddammit!"
Her hand trembles around the phone as she whispers, "Okay. I'm... I'm sorry."
"No." Now he sounds defeated. She hates when he feels like the wolf has won. It's so hard on his pride. "I can't believe I just did that. You don't deserve to be treated that way."
It freaks her out a little that she has to think about it before she decides he's right. "You can tell the wolf I said, 'screw you,'" she teases, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Yeah. That's exactly what he wants," he says, and he sounds so sad that she wishes there was some way to crawl through the phone line and hold him.
"Okay. If you don't want me to come home—or, I mean, if you want me to stay with my mom," she hurriedly corrects when he starts to protest, "then maybe... you should come here?"
This time the silence has a different quality to it. She knows he's thinking it over.
Unwillingness to go isn't what makes Jacob hesitate—of course he wants to see, feel, touch his Bells—but rather it's the internal conflicts.
He should be able to function without her. He should be able to go at least one fucking day without feeling like he's about to go insane—wait. Scratch that. He already is insane. Because of all this supernatural psycho bullshit. He's willing to bet that his brothers—the guys that are not imprinted—don't have these problems. Okay. So he can get off without Bella being right here, but everything else... it's not right without being able to roll over afterwards and stroke her stomach and smell her skin...
Why the fuck can't he just fix it?
Since he isn't answering, Bella finally speaks. She sounds as exhausted as he feels. "Do you want to think about it and, I don't know, maybe if you try to sleep—" A pause. "I can call you tomorrow."
"It's not that I don't want to," he quickly assures her. "It's just..." He tries to think of some not-pathetic way to explain this, then gives up. There's really no way to make it anything except what it is. "I ought to be able to handle not seeing you for a week, Bells."
God, this is so fucked up.
Jake leans back on the mattress and kicks the now less-than-pristine sheets out of the way and waits for Bella to say This is all way too much for me and I think I'd like to have a normal relationship with a guy who doesn't lose his mind when I'm out of arm's reach, thank you.
But then he hears a long, slow breath on the other side of the line. "Maybe I can't handle not seeing you for a week," she says quietly.
(told you, you moron)
"Let me check with Sam and see what's what," Jake says, "and I'll get back to you in the morning."
(about fucking time)
Bella checks the monitors outside the security gates again, just to be sure the flight still says ON TIME. It does, and this is the fifteenth time she's looked. Finally the display switches to AT GATE and she sighs with relief. Sure, she just maxed out her credit card, but she got a decent last-minute deal (who flies out on a Wednesday, after all) and this way her mom gets to meet Jake and... Yeah. She's not even fooling herself; she needed him here just as badly as he needed her.
Imprinting is really weird. She knows the minute he steps off the plane, and she feels him getting closer with every step he takes. It's as if the distance between them has sharpened her perceptions on that score, because she doesn't remember being so aware of his movements back home. So Bella's not surprised at all when she catches his face in the crowd of deplaning passengers streaming out of the terminal toward her.
She is surprised, however, at his response.
Jake completely forgets, for the first time ever, to watch his speed in public. One second he's just past the signs telling her to stop, this is a secure area, and the next second he's right in front of her and his arms are so tight around her sides that she can barely breathe.
"Jake," she chokes out. "Can't breathe..." But her arms close around him too.
He loosens his grip minutely, but only so he can slide his hands down, skirting perilously close to grabbing her ass in public. She probably wouldn't mind if he did, but it's not very like him. "Missed you," he mumbles into her shoulder.
"Missed you too," Bella tells him, holding him tighter. "I'm really, really glad you decided to come down here with me."
He goes still, and then admits, "I kind of didn't decide. Sam told me to come. I guess I'm driving everybody else nuts."
"Don't they understand? Half of them are imprinted too."
"Uh..." Now he lifts his head to meet her gaze. Guilt clamps around her chest when she sees the dark circles surrounding his eyes, and the way his face has grown a little hollow. He doesn't look as if he's been eating, even. "I guess none of them react the same way I do? They don't seem to, anyway. Emily went up to help her sister at the Makah rez for a week and Sam didn't even seem to notice. Well, that's not really true, but he didn't... I'm weird."
"Good thing," she teases, wrapping one arm around his waist and starting to lead him to the car. "Otherwise you wouldn't want me, 'cause I'm weird too."
"No you're not," he contradicts her. He's looking her over from head to toe. It started out as a reassurance to himself, that she was fine—she knows that because he does it every occasion they meet again after spending time apart—but now the look has turned into something else. Something she knows very well, and it makes her shiver with anticipation.
Abruptly, he grabs her upper arm and drags her into a recessed area in the wall that only leads to a door with a pin pad next to it. Bella catches her breath as her back hits the concrete behind her, but the slight pain from the impact is overwhelmed by the arousal that floods her in response to his dilated pupils and predatory expression. He drops his hand before his grip grows too tight (just tight enough thinks the part of her that loves this) but his gaze still roves over her entire body as if he's cataloging things away and coming to a decision.
"Jake?" she whispers. Whatever she might have added is cut off by the fierce pressure of his lips on her own. Ooohhh. He nips at her and she opens up in silent apology, giving his tongue the access he demands. His fingertips are digging so hard into her sides now that they're going to leave marks, and that's good, that's perfect, he should be able to see the proof of the effect he has on her. She moves to slide her arms around his neck, but he growls in rebuke, reaching for her wrists and holding them behind her with one hand.
Bella almost gives in, but at the last minute, as his mouth moves away from hers and starts moving down her jaw and to her neck, leaving little stings behind with each bite, she remembers where they are and gasps, "We shouldn't do this here. There's—we're going to get arrested or something. We should go to the car."
His body rocks against her. For a moment she thinks he'll disregard everything else, but then he pulls away completely. The sudden cold that rushes in as his heat recedes makes her shiver again.
Jacob, face expressionless, says, "Lead the way."
Bella can't decide whether or not she did the right thing, but she smiles at him anyway and walks toward the exit while he follows.
(fuck her now who the fuck cares who fucking sees they should all fucking see)
(you won't be thinking that when she and i are in separate cells)
Jacob hopes that Bella's parked close by, because he's about to do some serious damage to his pants and pants don't just grow on trees.
The airport seems to be complicated in a way designed to thwart him. (The Seattle airport didn't make much sense, either... but then, he'd never actually flown before. The security guys had been a little nervous about the guy with dark skin who had to duck to get through the metal detector, especially given that the age on his ID seemed ridiculously low. If he hadn't been so anxious to get to Jacksonville it would've been pretty funny.) Bella seems to know where she's going, at least. And her soft, cool little hand hasn't stopped gripping his.
He can smell how turned on she is.
(serves her right for going away she shouldn't get to come this time make her wait)
The hell with that.
Bella comes to a stop in the middle of the terminal and frowns up at a directional sign that doesn't actually give directions, near as he can tell. "Okay, I think I left the car in Lot B."
"You think?" Jacob says, his voice squeaking in a distinctly less-than-manly fashion. If it takes longer than three more minutes to get to the car he's going to spontaneously combust. He's already praying to every god he can think of (and a few he made up) that Renee owns a minivan, because sex in the backseat of a sedan's gonna be complicated.
Not that complicated is going to stop him, of course...
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty sure." Bells gives him an adorably sheepish look. "Sorry... I didn't pay much attention. I was pretty distracted on the way here."
"No problem," he manages to say, swallowing back the wolf-fueled frustration. (she's doing this on purpose) After all, he was distracted enough on the flight in that he'd had to keep his tray table down for the entire five hours so the little old lady sitting next to him wouldn't notice his hard-on and alert the flight attendant that she wanted to change her seat to get away from the pervert.
Finally Bella nods in a satisfied fashion. "Yeah. It was Lot B, on the third floor. I remember now." She glances towards a sign pointing to Baggage Claim, then says in a slightly desperate voice, "You didn't bring any luggage, did you?"
He wordlessly shrugs his backpack on his shoulder.
Her smile is definitely relieved. "Oh. Good. 'Cause waiting for suitcases can take half an hour, sometimes... and that would be kind of a long wait." She blushes as she strokes her ring finger along the inside of his wrist.
Fuck half an hour. He's waited almost a week. Jake leans down and presses his lips to her ear, feeling a delicious shudder run through her body. "The car, Bells?" he whispers.
(you pussy take her now)
(sure, yeah, in front of the five year old by the window and the nuns by the newspaper stand. brilliant idea.)
Bella swallows. "Right. Yeah. This way." And she pulls him in the direction of the elevator.
Oh. Thank. God.
Jake's hands are under her shirt almost before the metal doors slide closed, and Bella sends up a short prayer that whoever's watching the security cameras is on a break. Then she forgets about security altogether when he yanks her shirt up to confirm what his hands have already discovered: she didn't bother with a bra today. (She's sacrificed more than a few to his eagerness when they've reunited after a few days apart.)
"Bella," he breathes. She suppresses a smug surge of gratification at his rapt attention directed at her chest. His expression flickers, turns to confusion, when he twists her slightly and traces the outer swell of her breast with one finger. Bella moans shakily, but Jake's not doing it to turn her on. "What the hell?"
Glancing down, she sees the faint bruises she left on her own skin. "Oh. Yeah. The other night, when we were—you know?" He nods. "I was just remembering how you touched me and, um, I can't do it like you but I guess I got close."
Jacob looks for another second, and then ducks to run his tongue over the marks just before the elevator dings and draws to a halt on the second floor. Bella jumps away with a squeak, trying to pull her shirt down, but as the doors slide open Jacob stops her hands in their tracks. Astounded, she stares up at him and mouths, "What are you doing?"
In answer, he moves to back her into the corner of the elevator. Behind him, she can hear people filing on, making low-voiced conversation, but all her attention is on his hands, which are currently palming both of her breasts. The breath rushes in her throat, thin and way too fast. Logically she knows that he's tall and broad enough to block the view of everyone else around them. That doesn't stop the fear of discovery... or the corresponding surge of involuntarily arousal. She looks at his face: he's watching his thumbs as they sweep across her nipples. The elevator begins to slow again, and just before the bell dings again he pinches them, hard, between thumbs and forefingers.
Bella's knees almost give out underneath her.
Jacob pulls her shirt down and steps aside to let her go first into the parking garage. They have to take a glassed-in pedestrian walkway to the actual lot. The entire time she's scurrying ahead of him, she's half-afraid, half-hopeful he'll do something right here, suspended above the rush of cars, buses, and hotel shuttles trying to get to the terminal, but he seems to have decided to wait.
When they get to the dark, relatively cool garage, she stops and peers around, looking for something familiar to use as a landmark. Usually she's conscientious about noting the lot letter and row number, but she was in such a daze of frustrated lust by the time she got here that she honestly has no memory of walking from her mom's Highlander to the terminal. The painful ache radiating from between her thighs isn't helping with the concentration factor, either. Digging the key ring out of her pocket, she hits the lock button, but there are so many cars here, and owners unlocking and locking them, that it's impossible to tell which beep belongs to her.
"Bells." Jacob sounds desperate, and the heat that always pours off him seems to have risen exponentially. She wonders idly if it's possible to actually burn from someone else's skin. He's so close to her that sweat is gathering at the small of her back and beneath her hair in response.
"I know it's close by," she replies. Her own voice is strained.
He makes a noise that's very close to a snarl, and that worries her. He always feels so terrible when he loses control to the wolf (she seems to be the only one who understands he's taking control), and she really, really doesn't want him to feel ashamed again.
Maybe she should take charge for a minute. Or five.
"C'mere." Bella grabs his hand again and careens toward the farthest corner she can see: it's dark, with a big concrete column between the Expedition that's parked closest to the wall and the janitor's closet door. When they get there, she tugs until he's got his back against the column and then takes the backpack from his shoulder.
"What're you doing?" he demands hoarsely.
In answer, Bella reaches for his jeans button. Quick as a thought, his hand overlays hers, but just as she's wondering if he means to stop her, he instead undoes the button and pulls the zipper down.
Whoa, she thinks, feeling him through the fabric of his boxers, and then she pulls them out of the way and whoa. Just... wow. That does it; she's never leaving him again. First she curls her hand around him, and he gasps, then lets his head fall back as she moves up and down.
"What do you want me to do?" she asks, but realizes as she does so that he might not want to tell her. So instead, she goes down to her knees on the cold asphalt and takes him into her mouth.
He makes the exact noise he did on the phone—that one particular mmph. She would smile with satisfaction but all her attention needs to be directed elsewhere at the moment.
Don't grab her head. Keep quiet. Don't grab her head. Keep quiet. Don't grab her head. Keep quiet.
Then Bella does that thing with her teeth.
Jacob shoves his hands into her hair and groans loud and long.
Uh-oh. Jake's moan — sexy though it was — echoed clearly against the concrete.
Bella pulls away with a little 'pop' and glances around quickly, checking to see if anyone's looking or God forbid running over. If they get caught Jacob will probably kill whoever it is that interferes — if Bella doesn't kill him or her first.
Thankfully there's no footsteps or any other sign that the various comers and goers of the garage have noticed two teenagers in a less-than-clothed state next to the emergency exit.
There's a growl overhead, and the fingers locked in her hair yank her closer. Bella opens her mouth obligingly and this time he takes control, moving rapidly past her lips, hitting the back of her throat with each thrust. But she's gotten lots of experience with that and it doesn't bother her anymore. Her gag reflex is a thing of the past.
Jake's quiet, hissing curses are absolutely soaking her panties; he's getting really into it, and as much fun as that is, Bella's starting to worry. The ache in her abdomen has become nearly unbearable. She braces her hands against his thighs, curls her fingers into his jeans, and hopes against hope that he'll last through her oral ministrations because if she has to wait too much longer to get off then she might cry. A lot. Really messily.
Okay, yeah, he needs it, but she needs it too!
Bella can feel Jake's muscles tensing under her hands. Oh no. She tries to ease off but his fingers are still fisted in her hair, holding her as he pumps...
...and she hears another very sexy but much-too-loud groan. A moment later she's swallowing and damn it!
If Jacob had any blood to spare he would be blushing. Except that it felt so good and he's still hard so it's not as if—
A little sniff zeroes in his attention to Bella's face... and what he sees there makes him wince. "Oh, Bells."
"It's okay," she whispers, but she quickly wipes away tears, only to have them just as quickly replaced as they spill from her eyes.
(nice, make her wait)
(shut the FUCK UP)
"I'm so, so sorry," he apologizes, going down on his knees in front of her, heedless of his still-open jeans. She looks absolutely heartbroken.
"I know... It's not really your fault." Bella still sounds completely miserable, only this time he's the reason for it, and he can't stand that.
"I'm really, really..." He trails off as his eyes, now cleared a little in the post-orgasmic relief, take in her outfit.
She's wearing a skirt.
Normally, he loves that she's so casual in her choice of clothing that all he ever sees her in is flannels, jeans, or, well, nothing at all. But today she wore a skirt to come and meet him and he knows why—for the same reason she didn't wear a bra.
"I love you," he breathes, and then he yanks her up to stand against the column.
"I love you too, but—Jake!" Her fingers rake through his hair and then grip it at the roots, holding him against her as he shoves her skirt up out of the way and licks the edge of her panties. "Oh my God!"
"Ssshhh," he whispers, trying to keep from grinning.
(such a fucking pussy)
(Shit, I hope so)
He means to just draw her underwear down to the floor but when he grips the hem his hand twists and they rip clear off. Bella gives another startled squeak as he buries his mouth in slick hot folds. "Jake, we shouldn't—this is really stupid—"
(she doesn't get to say)
Jacob growls in agreement, grabbing her hips to hold her steady as he works her clit with the tip of his tongue. Bella moans. He can feel her knees shaking against his chest as she braces herself on his shoulders. That gives him an idea; he moves one hand down to her ankle and hooks it over one shoulder, then, before she catches her balance, does the same on the other side. Now she's completely dependent on him for support as he licks and sucks and basically drives her crazy.
The intruder snarls in his head — he's never been particularly fond of doing this. Jacob, on the other hand, loves it.
(waste of fucking time)
(you want her to think we're the thirty-second man? Go away!)
She tastes so good. Jake's heard guys complaining about having to go down on girls, but he'd do it for hours if Bells would let him. Maybe it's the imprint. Or maybe the other guys just aren't any good at it.
Jacob smiles at the thought.
Suddenly Bella's heels dig into his back and her thighs start to quake. Excellent. Damn, she must have really needed it bad. Jake holds onto her hips and presses his tongue harder against her, lapping like a cat (or a wolf) and looking forward to her screams, whoever might hear them be damned—
—then Bella squirms and pushes him away.
What the hell?
On one level, Bella can't believe she's stopping him. But the emptiness inside her is demanding to be filled, and an orgasm — even what was definitely about to be a superb one — isn't going to get the job done.
Jacob sets her back on the ground with a look of incredulous disbelief and injured pride. In the shadows she can't see between his legs. "Jake? Um... are you still..."
Bella wets her lips. "I was just... kind of hoping for... more," she squeaks.
At that, Jacob's expression goes from disbelieving to flat-out insulted — but then his eyes darken as he clearly gets what she's asking for. Thank goodness. Bella's already pushed her boundaries into whole new levels today, and she can't quite bring herself to say out loud I hope you're still hard as a rock because even though you came about two minutes ago I want you to fuck me against the wall in spite of the fact that at any moment we could be caught by passersby and are probably being recorded on security cameras but I don't care because I am burning up.
Maybe next time she'll have the nerve.
And the next thing she knows, her cheek is pressed to the concrete so hard that it might leave scrapes but she doesn't care because she can feel Jacob lining himself up and oh God yes he's finally inside. Her shirt's up around her neck and the column's abrading her nipples as he begins to thrust into her. It hurts—it feels good—as long as he doesn't stop she's going to come within sixty seconds—
But then he slows down. Bella whimpers in protest, hands scrabbling fruitlessly for a grip. "Jake!"
"You wanted more," he reminds her, and now she really wishes she would've just told him to fuck her against the wall. Instead of keeping a steady rhythm, he withdraws almost completely and just... waits.
Bella knows from experience that if she tries to force him to hurry, he'll hold back more, but she's ready to scream from sheer frustration. Instead, she focuses on keeping her voice calm as she agrees, "I did. I do. But Jake—" And now she can't help it; she presses back into him with her limited range of movement, "I really just want you." All of you, she silently adds, but if she says that he might figure out what she means and get pissed off at himself, so she keeps it to herself.
With a sudden motion, he's all the way inside again. She cries out, hearing the sound echoing off the walls but not really caring. Jacob starts pistoning again, this time hard and steady, giving her what they both want while she stays suspended in his grip. One of his hands works its way in between her body and the concrete, rubbing her clit in the same unsteady fashion she fantasized about on the phone. She moans involuntarily.
"If you're loud, people are going to come and see us," he warns. The dark edge in his voice tells her that a part of him wants exactly that, and thinking about being watched while he does this to her makes her bite her lip against another moan. "Is that what you want?" Helpless, she nods. Yes. Yes. He growls when she does, speeding up, and then she's clamping down around him in helpless convulsions, teeth so deep in her lip that she tastes blood while she writhes. Jake groans against her hair—she thinks she catches a "mine" in there—and slams into her one final time as he comes.
Bella barely has time to catch her breath before he steps back and lowers her to the floor.
"Bells?" he asks. He sounds like Jake again.
Smiling to herself, Bella readjusts her clothes before turning to face him. "Wow," she tells him, wide-eyed with delight.
The apprehension on his face vanishes, drowned under a wave of relief and pride. "That was—oh, shit, honey." He reaches to brush his knuckles against her face.
Confused, she lifts her own hand to follow the same path, and flinches a little as she encounters the tiny abrasions there. Glancing at her fingertips, she's happy to not see blood. "It's okay."
His forehead wrinkles with confusion. "How can it be okay? You're hurt."
"No I'm not. I mean, I am, but it's... I like it." She wishes so much that she could put it in terms he could understand, but her mind's a fuzzy, satisfied blank. She changes the subject instead. "Where's my underwear?"
Jacob ducks to grab the discarded bit of lacy fabric and hand it to her. After using it to clean up a little, she throws it into the trash can near the door and looks around. "Oh. Hey! There's the Highlander!" It's just a few parking spaces down, facing out to the street. "Let's go. My mom's dying to meet you. I bet she starts calling before we're halfway back to her house." After an unsteady step or two, she realizes that her legs really will hold her and sets out with a bit more confidence.
He's still uncertain, but he grasps her outstretched hand willingly enough to follow. "You sure you're okay?"
"Positive. Better than okay. I—" A sudden breeze wafts up her skirt, and she comes to an abrupt halt. "Oh, crap."
"What? What's wrong?"
She gapes at him in horror. "Jake! I'm gonna have to watch you talk to my mom without any underwear on!" Across the lot, she spots a woman, keys in hand, peering in their direction. When Jacob follows her out into the light, the woman's face becomes positively disapproving. "And I think that lady might have heard something." She's going to be red for the rest of her life. She'll probably be blushing in her casket. People are going to be lining up for one last look and they're going to ask, "Why did they make her look so embarrassed?"
He snorts, then, at her minatory glare, assumes the most unconvincing repentant look she's ever seen. "Sorry, honey."
Oh thank God. He's not mad at himself. "It's not funny," she grumbles, starting to walk again, but when he tries to muffle his chuckle she realizes that she's not all that sorry, either.
A big, huge, MASSIVE "thank you" to MeraNaamJoker & audreyii-fic (I love you two muchly. Forgive me for the brain-hemorrhage) for, once more, giving me the honor of working with them. Suffice to say, this chapter is 99% their brilliance. Only a few paragraphs are mine, so direct praise where it's due.