This o/s was originally written for the The Lemonade Stand Lyrics and Lemons Contest. My song choice was Hatef**k by The Bravery. I tried to write a little less fluff, so this is a slight departure from The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty or Jack, Jill and a Foosball Table. I hope you still enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or Hatef**k, but they're both on my iPod, js.
He'd been watching her all afternoon; ever since he first saw her walk into the community center, looking every bit the angel her father the rest of the bucolic town thought she was.
But he knew that under the conservative blouse, whose neckline was just low enough to show the string of pearls her grandmother had given her and the flowing skirt, whose hemline was just short enough to show her low beige pumps; she wore the tiniest scraps of lace that were the sexiest things he'd ever seen.
Nothing he tried helped him shake the annoyance when she was in the same place and time as him by sheer coincidence, yet she refused to acknowledge his presence. Logically, he knew she was playing her part. But his logic was no match for the wound of rejection as she ignored him or his irrational jealousy as he noticed the easy conversation and familiarity the other ladies had with his Bella.
She was the Sheriff's dutiful daughter and the minister's faithful niece. Her entire life was wrapped up in who they thought she was. She volunteered at the library, attended Bible study every Tuesday night, Women's group on Thursdays, and weekly services; lead the K-2 Sunday school program and came to these monthly Combined Congregations Ladies Luncheons.
He was the prodigal son, returned to the stifling small town after dropping out of med school and a stint in rehab. Everyone in town knew why he was back, and they never let him forget. He should feel lucky that a handful of the town's people were willing to give him another chance and let him teach their children piano and guitar at the community center. At least that's what he reminded himself when he was frustrated with his lazy pupils that weren't practicing between sessions. That and that he needed their monthly tuition checks because he definitely was not making enough playing weekend gigs at The Roadhouse.
Neither her family nor friends would ever accept him. She was too good to be sullied by someone like him, and in truth, he thought so too. So they would sneak around in dark and secret places, never acknowledging their mutual acquaintance in public. This was par for the course, and today shouldn't bother him more than any other day.
It's not like he ever introduced his band mates or bar buddies to the Sunday school teacher he was fucking either, which was even more reason why today shouldn't bother him, but it did.
Today was a busy one, full of lessons for him. Every time he walked down the hall, returning one student to his or her parent with a quick, generic progress report and picking up the next from the other waiting parent; he would glance into the 'Grand Hall' where the ladies where lunching and listening to their speakers with rapt attention. And every time, he would nod or smile or raise an eyebrow in acknowledgement of their secret affair and every time, she would turn away without returning the gesture.
Bella sat in the Grand Hall, with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her legs folded neatly beneath her and crossed at the ankles like the proper young lady her father needed her to be to support his constant re-election bid for county sheriff, to prove that not only could he maintain peace and order in Clallam County, but also in his home, even while raising a daughter on his own.
She listened intently as one guest droned on about morality and charity in the modern world, until the next would take the podium and drone on about morality and charity in the modern world. Or at least she tried. Every fifty minutes or so, her eyes and mind would wander into the hall, begging for just a glimpse of Edward. At every pass, he would make eye contact with her and her heart would race. The heat rushing to her face always served as a reminder that she should be paying attention to the guest speakers, and she would quickly return her attention to them to avoid discovery.
She longed to be with him, to be seen with him; but his wild reputation couldn't take the cliché of being seen with the sheriff's kid and pastor's virginal niece. She scoffed when she thought of her own reputation, she hadn't been a virgin for a long time, not since church camp her junior year of high school when she and her boyfriend, Jacob, exchanged their virginity. She had thought they'd go away to college together, get married and then start a family. That idea only lasted until their senior year when Jacob accused her of being a Jezebel and tricking him into her bed before announcing he was a born again virgin and was headed to seminary. She must have tricked him a lot, and it was usually his bed, not hers.
There were a couple of boyfriends in college too, but she hadn't been with anyone since returning to Forks. It had been so long, maybe she was a born again virgin too. Or at least she was until Edward came back.
But it was how the people of the town saw her, and she couldn't bear to let them down because it's wasn't just what they thought of her, but of her father and uncle too. Just the thought of disappointing either of them brought her to tears. And she feared, if she told her father about Edward, he'd either shoot him with his service revolver or die of a heart attack; and she didn't want to lose either of them.
So she played her part, just like her cousin. Well, not exactly like Angela, because she waited until Ben put an engagement ring on her finger to lose her v-card. And while Bella knew all about Angela and Ben's pre-marital activities, Bella still didn't think she could tell Angela about Edward.
Edward headed back to the studio, this time alone, having walked out his last student. Now with noting to distract him, his anger over being ignored grows. He was determined not to look for her on this pass, not to give her the satisfaction of turning away from him. Despite his intentions, he was unable to avoid the pull he feels to her and glances as he walks by and see the luncheon is breaking.
Bella was chatting with several older ladies, while a few of the men who had come to fetch their wives and mothers, scrambled to pick up and stack the folding chairs. Bella tried desperately to wriggle herself out of the conversation, so that she could escape to her car and call Edward. But these are the kind of women who talk until someone stops them.
She noticed he had become more frustrated with every trip past the open double doors of the Grand Hall. She wanted to connect with him, to make sure he's okay. Breaking away was difficult, she knows she serves as a substitute for these ladies own daughters and granddaughters who moved away long ago, and she's too kind to put them off with a disingenuous conversation. It's this kindness that draws these ladies too her.
Finally, when the last of the ladies had been picked up by the last of their men, Bella can head for the secrecy of her truck to try and reach Edward.
She hurried down the hall, paying more attention to her phone than her surroundings. She had no time to react when she felt warm fingers wrap around her wrist and yank her into a darkened room. Before she could get enough air into her lungs to scream, she is pushed against the now closed door, her midsection pinned by a heavy pelvis and her shoulders held to the door with a muscular forearm. Another hand covers her mouth.
She squeezes her eyes shut. The sound of her rapid breathing are amplified against the hand that is both preventing her scream and holding her head to the door.
She feels him press into her even harder, his warm breath at her ear, he whispers low and gravely, "Don't scream. We're in the studio; it's soundproof to protect the rest of the center from the pain of hearing Mikey Newton flub his way though scales. No one will hear you here."
Her body shudders beneath him, and then relaxes. She knows that voice and she feels safe again.
He takes half a step back to look at her. He's still holding her to the cushioned door, just not as tightly, his arms move to either side of her head and he lowers his face where tears that welled behind her clenched eyes escaped.
He is angry, but he never wanted to scare her like that; he wasn't thinking. He dips his head and swallows her tears with kisses, whispering, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
She sighs at his gentle kisses, "Edward, it's okay. I was just startled. I was just trying to get out to my truck to call you." She looks up and sees the conflict in his eyes and the furrow between his eyebrows. She wants to quell what's brewing beneath them.
He's a little surprised, but still suspicious. He narrows his eyes, "You were going to call me? Why?" he asks, punctuating each question with a nudge of his hips against hers.
She breaks from his intense glare, "I was worried about you. You seemed upset the last time I saw you pass the meeting."
He takes a step back and drops his arms to his side. They are no longer touching. He runs his fingers through his disheveled hair; he must have done that a hundred times today. He closes his eyes and faces the ceiling, letting out his breath in a rush, "Oh I get it. You were playing your part. You're still 'their' Bella. Saint Bella." He sighs again in sadness and looks down at his shoes to avoid the looks he knows she's giving him. He's just a charity case to her.
She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him. "Stop that, you know that's not true!" she demands, "You only said that because you know that it's a sore spot for me! You're just cranky and feeling sorry for yourself and taking it out on me!"
"You're just cranky and taking it out on me!" he mocks back, "See, you're even still talking just like them, just like those judgmental old biddies. That's why you ignored me all day, right? You don't want to disappoint the holy crows, you don't want them to know the real you! Because if they knew the real you, they might not like you!"
"Stop saying that!" she says, tears again welling in her eyes , "I'm real with them. I'm real with you. It's just different times call for different behaviors."
He steps close to her, wrapping his long, graceful fingers around the back of her neck. It's a strange mix of menace and comfort, as he strokes her jaw with his thumb, "So, they know the same Bella I know?" he inhales deeply as he draws his nose along her long neck, bringing this lips to barely graze the shell of her ear before asking her, "So, they know that when you kneel beside your bed at night, it's to suck my cock?"
She gasps in surprise. He's amused; the contradiction between the sensual woman he knows and the sweet, innocent, perfect girl she shows everyone else has always turned him on. He can't let her know that, he doesn't want to give her that power.
Trying to compose herself, she bites her bottom lip. She knows she should be shocked and offended, but she isn't. She shakes her head. They don't know; they don't know how she sneaks off with this man they all judge so harshly. Or what he does to her, what she begs him to do and what she so willingly does to him. And they don't know how she aches when she can't be with him either. Nobody knows that but him. Or at least, he should know.
He smirks at her admission, "No they don't, do they?" He brings his other hand to the highest buttons of her silky blouse, only asking permission with his eyes, before he unbuttons two. He pulls her collar to the side, allowing better access to her shoulder and brings his lips to gently kiss it before not so gently biting the juncture of her neck.
He stops, pulling back slightly and cocks his head. He's listening and a wry smile crosses his face.
For the first time since she's been in this room, she's aware of the music playing; it must have been playing the entire time.
She can see a mercurial glint in his eyes as he asks, "Do you know this song?"
Her eyes are trapped, locked in an intense stare that not even the shaking of her head can break.
His smirk gets impossibly cockier, as he begins to sing with the band, "If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them? If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?"
The intensity of the words and the music and his look cause a sharp intake of air. She's holding her breath and biting her lip. Her hands move from their place, flat against the door, to drag up his thighs before dipping her fingertips into the waistband of his low slung jeans.
His lips return to her neck and then to that spot just below her ear. He lowly growls, "I can't keep secrets that I know, how you want me. You can tear your nails into my skin, you won't stop me. You can twist and scream into the air, but no one can hear you here," in time with the music.
She tugs his waistband, pulling him into herself. He continues unbuttoning her blouse, pulling it over her shoulders until it's trapped at her elbows; he can't pull it completely from her unless she lets go of his jeans, and he doesn't want her to let go of them.
And there will be no tenderness
And there will be no tenderness
I will show no mercy for you.
You have no mercy for me
The only thing that I ask
Love me mercilessly
He pulls the thin straps of her delicate, white camisole over her shoulders and it falls down to her waist. He cannot contain the self satisfied smirk when he see's she is wearing one of 'those' bras. The ones no one knows she secretly orders online. No one but him.
It would almost look like a modest piece, befitting the angel they think she is; with the soft pink ruffles along the plunge that's really too deep to be decent. The same sheer pink triangles do little to hide the even pinker buds below.
His hands come to her waist, above the bunched material of her blouse and camisole. His long fingers wrap around her sides, and his thumbs trace her lowest ribs roughly.
She gasps at the feel of him squeezing her middle and the feel of the tips of his long fingers running up her back. Before she knows it, her pretty bra is undone and hanging on her forearms like the rest of her garments, still trapped by her refusal to release his jeans.
He dips his head to take her exposed breast into his mouth, but she jerks his waistband towards her own center and his head snaps up instead. His brow furrow slightly and his hard, moss green eyes bore into her soft, chocolate ones.
Lightly grazing the skin just above his waistband as she maintains her grip, she moves to his belt buckle. She begins to push the excess length of his thick leather belt against the buckle with a raised eyebrow, she pushes it though loops and hardware, cinching the belt around his waist before releasing it with her own smirk.
He recognizes the confident, sexy-as-fuck woman she is when she comes to him; the woman she is when her daddy and the rest of the disapproving masses aren't looking. His eyes soften slightly, and he searches her eyes. He wants her to see what he sees, to know what he knows. His mouth moves to her and he kisses her, hard. His tongue slides against hers and she moans around it, ignoring the impact of the back of her head on the door.
She is breathless when he draws back only enough to whisper with the music, "All your shunning friends, that despise you to your face. What would they say now, if they saw you in this place? Naked and breathless. Could you live with this disgrace?"
It is her who attacks this time. She attacks his mouth, and she attacks the buttons of his jeans. She dips her hand into the open fly of his jeans. He hisses as she palms his hardness, still in the confines of his pants.
He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the door over her shoulder for a minute; it feels so good; it always feels so good. She lulls her head to the side so that her panting breaths are in his ear.
Still rubbing him with her flattened palm, her whisper is low and breathy, "I wasn't ignoring you. I saw you, I saw you every time you passed by that door."
He believes her for a moment, and then he remembers how he she would turn away every time he tried to get her attention; he is full of rage again. She was ignoring him, because she didn't want her real life friends to know about him; because he wasn't good enough for her. It didn't matter if he thought that was true, he didn't want it to be true.
He lifts his head from the door, glaring at her. He bends to reach under the hemline of her skirt. She can feel the rough calluses of his hands as they drag up the backs of her thighs. His warm hands don't stop until he's cupping her bottom. He smashes his lips to hers and thrusts his tongue forcefully into her mouth. This kiss is not about turning her on; it's aggressive and raw and filled with dominance and claim.
She draws her hand from his pants and reaches under his shirt to graze his chest and back with her nails, before sliding her hands back down to push his jeans and underwear down in one motion. The weight of his belt pulls the jeans to the floor, but the boxer-briefs are still tangled around his thighs.
He squeezes her ass so hard she shrieks. His lips barely brush the side of her mouth as he repeats, "You can twist and scream into the air, but no one can hear you here," as his hands rake back to her upper thighs. He grips them tightly to lift her to his height, leaning more on her and pressing his erection harder against her, and pressing her harder into the door.
She locks her legs around his waist and tries to move her arms to his shoulder, but the new position has caused her shirt to slip even further down her back, it's trapped between her and the door and holding her elbows tightly at her sides. "Edward, I'm stuck, I can't move."
He looks down, seeing the issue, but doesn't move. He shrugs his shoulders, but still moves to detangle her from her sleeves and straps. "Do you have somewhere to go?" he says, as he takes her wrists and holds them firmly against the door.
"Leave them there," he demands, releasing one of her wrists and bringing his free hand under her hitched thigh to pull her panties aside. Feeling the dampness of her panties, he groans, "Fuck, you're ready aren't you? Maybe I should just turn away and pretend like I didn't see you, like I can't hear you panting like a bitch in heat, like I can't feel you dripping for me. Like you pretended not to see me all day."
Shocked and insulted, her jaw drops open. Before she can formulate a thought, he brings his other hand to guide his cock to her opening and enters her in one hard thrust.
Her head lolls back, and she makes a gasp-shriek-moan. She brings her hands to cradle his face, but he's not interested in tenderness.
"I told you to leave them on the door!" he said, stopping his movements.
"No," she said with authority.
"No?" he repeats, wondering if she meant no to putting her hands back in place or no to the sex all together.
"No, don't stop." she clarifies.
"Then put your hands back!" he insists.
She quickly complies, returning her hands to their position flat against the door.
He resumes his hard thrusts. He's pushing into her with such force; her entire body is being driven higher and higher.
She begins pushing back, back onto him and back against the door, using her hands as leverage and meeting his every thrust.
Every forward thrust is propelled by his deep grunts and met with her sharp gasps. His languorous withdrawals are accompanied by her moans.
He brings his hand back to her neck, and her eyes roll back into her head. "Open your eyes," he demands, "I want you to see me, I want you to see who's fucking you. I want you watch me, watch me take you and fill you, and I want you to remember that look every fucking time you turn away from me, every time you pretend I don't exist."
She opens her eyes to see the fire in his. She gasps for air, unsure if it's the intensity of his stare or the intensity of his pounding that is making her breathless, "Oh god, oh god, oh god. Please, please, please. I need," she begs, "I need, I need to touch you. Please. Please. Please," she chants as he drives into her.
He briefly closes his eyes and nods.
With his unspoken permission, she throws one arm over his neck, and moves the other to his hair. She pulls it hard, forcing him to tilt his head so she can bring her mouth to his. She can only kiss him in a short burst before she has to break it to breathe. She doesn't pull away; instead, she swallows his quick, heavy breaths.
She grabs at the collar of his t-shirt, bunching the cotton up until she can feel the bare skin of his back. He is relentlessly driving into her, and she's clinging to him, her fingers flexing, causing her nails to dig into his skin with each thrust.
His hand is on her neck and his every thrust feels harder and deeper than the last. She should feel vulnerable and used, but she doesn't.
She feels like she's letting go. Every time he pushes into her, she lets go. She lets go of everything and she feels. She just feels; she feels him driving into her, crushing her harder and harder to the door. She feels the muscles in his back tense and coil under her nails as he pushes himself into her and holds her in place, his fingers digging into her inner thighs as he constantly is lifting her back into position.
She maintains the eye contact he demands. She doesn't want to look away, because the fire and passion she sees is the fire and passion that's missing from her life when she has to be who they expect her to be.
She knows he's close, she can feel his legs starting to shake. She needs more. She strokes his forearm, sliding up to wrap her fingers around his wrist and pulls it forward, to the front of her throat.
His eyes widen, stunned. She nods, confirming her request. His large hand encircles her delicate throat. He constricts his hand slightly, but it's enough to make her breathing raspier.
He studies her eyes for signs of distress, but there is none. Her eyes start to flutter and she's having trouble keeping the eye contact, but she maintains it even as she starts to cum. He stills, swallowing her low, raspy keening. Her entire body is pulsing, and as she starts to come down from her orgasm, he suddenly pulls out and pushes back into her with as much vigor as before.
Still locked in their gaze, she gasps at the sensation, her most intimate parts are still so sensitive and her nerves still so raw; she can't tell if the sensations are pain or pleasure.
He loosens his grip on her throat, moving his hand to the back of her head where he tangles it in her long hair.
He stills again, roaring in his release and grunting as he pulses and fills her.
He is exhausted and wants to collapse on the floor until he looks down at the twenty year old carpet and changes his mind. He's still holding Bella and his softening dick is still inside of her. He shuffles over to the piano bench with his jeans still tangled at his ankles.
She has gone limp in his arms, glad he's carrying her because she doesn't think her legs will function yet. He sits down and she giggles at the thought of his bare ass on the piano bench where the children of Forks first learn to play Chopsticks.
Cradling his face in her hands, she kisses his temples and cheeks, his eyelids and the corners of his mouth hoping to apologize for hurting him earlier in the day. She thought she was protecting him, and herself; but she can see now she really wasn't.
He holds her, caressing her back while waiting for their breathing to return to normal. The fury in his need to claim her, to be acknowledged by her has faded into an intimacy that has always been an undercurrent of their secret rendezvous. Somehow, feelings have crept in and though they hide their relationship from the rest of the world, they can't continue to hide it from themselves.
Calmed and fantastically sated in his arms, she makes a decision. "Edward, would you like to come over for dinner tonight?" she asks, biting her lip, anxious that he may now reject her.
He looks up from his position on her shoulder, he sighs deeply, "I can't. I have a gig."
She debates whether that sigh meant he was disappointed or annoyed. Even more nervous than before, she puts herself out there once more time, she quietly asks, "Maybe, an early dinner? I can make something before you have to go."
His smile is so genuine and beautiful; it literally takes her breath away. "That would be amazing," he responds, chastely pecking her lips, adding, "Why don't you come with me? And you can meet the guys."
Her bright smile is all the answer he needs.
Thanks for reading. I'd love to know what you thought of it. (Review button, hint, hint!)