A/N:

Yes, it's been forever. Seems to be the way I start out all of my A/N's. This chappie is dedicated to TheGreenPuma. She specifically requested the content of this chapter. Maybe not the way the scene was set, but the climax (giggle) was all her.

Thank you for continuing to read this, especially since I haven't updated in so long. And especially for such a short update. I appreciate YOU! No more BS. Let's get to the good stuff (i.e. Carlisle…)

O.O

Giving Up

O.O

After Jasper's typhoon of arousal threatened to physically knock me over, I excused myself to my study while he took off with Alice for an emergency hunt, which is essentially code for coitus in the woods.

I closed and locked the door to my study, leaning back against it and sighing heavily as I did so. Esme was nowhere to be found and I trembled with the need to relieve the insane amount of sexual energy pulsing within me, fighting to break free.

I pushed thoughts of returning to work just to seek out the presence of the scarf, and gave in, instead, to some serious time in front the computer, searching out any and every image that even remotely resembled that fresh, girl-next-door type that Bella embodied.

Finding one that truly looked like her from the back – an image of a lovely, curvy woman stretched out on her stomach, the bed sheet falling to just below the crack of her ass – took the amped-up arousal Jasper had left me with and turned it into rock-hard desperation for release. Without making a conscious decision to do it, my lab coat found its way to the floor, my dress shirt found itself open to my waist, and the fingertips of my left hand brushed and scraped themselves to my right nipple.

Breathing quickly, my teeth caught my right thumb between them, clamping down at the edge of pain. My libido was warring with my control, even in my subconscious; my eyes sealed the deal for my libido, though, when they slid shut and began to imagine that the hand now pulling and pinching my nipple was hers. It was her thumb between my teeth, which I released and was now making slow brushes along the length of my bottom lip.

I imagined her smiling up at me from her seat on the arm of my chair, tentatively touching me with that innocent smile on her face. Looking from my face down to her hand on my nipple and then lower…entranced with the tent I was surely pitching in my pants. I pictured her dragging her hand lower, rubbing lightly over the silky material of my gray trousers. I was so close to coming at just the thought of her warm palm and fingers gliding and squeezing, trying to figure out what a man truly feels like under all those clothes.

Running my tongue over my lower lip, I pushed her hand on my nipple down to the button of my pants, urging her hands to free me from my prison. Her hands instead left my lower half as a whimper escaped me and began their exploration of my face, my neck, my lips again and again, and then my chest. As her hands drifted lower to my abs I felt a need rise within me so strong it made me want to cry out. I needed her warmth against me, on me, around me. I needed that smell.

I tried to imagine it here with me. I opened my eyes, staring at the picture again, imagining her physically here with me: naked, prostrate, and vulnerable. I focused on the curve of her hip and how it flared to her backside. Even though just the idea of doing so literally made me salivate, I would repress the urge to scrape my teeth along that curve or tap it tersely with my palm; she would not be ready for such moves. Instead, I would let my cold fingers trail along it, over the crack and down under the curve of her ass. I would palm it, squeeze just slightly, relishing in the supple heat.

She would reach toward me, wanting to pull me in for a kiss, but I would resist, wanting to focus all the attention on her – tantalizing her senses by teasing her body. I would brush my hands down those long, graceful legs, and then back up, fingertips teasing the inside of her calves, her knees, her thighs, which would part so easily and unconsciously. She would respond by pressing her naked flesh against the cool cotton bed sheet offering her divine pressure in all the right places: nipples rubbing lightly against the long fiber, pelvic bone pressed into the give of the mattress. I could only hope that the pressure would entice blood to those pretty pink places, engorging them and making them ache for some release, and along with that ache, that divine, soft, wet smell that made me so crazy.

My fingertips would trace tiny, light circles higher and higher until they would breach the warm heat of her, tight and slick. So hot for her, I was pushing myself into my hand, sucking on the fingers of my other hand, imagining the slick surface one other than the inside of my mouth. Imagining her scooting toward me as I slowly slid my fingers in and out; thumb brushing that ultra sensitive secret place, moaning and reaching for me, she would be desperate for an outlet for all the feelings welling up inside her.

Her hands were at my trouser buttons now, pushing the fabric over my hips, freeing me to her gaze and warm hands. I could feel her touch me, tug at me, clumsy and inexperienced, but my body sought her out, scooting to the edge of my chair to get closer, even as I focused on her building tension.

Just as her moans turned to anguished whimpers, her hands were just right: twisting and gripping in all the right places, wet digits tracing my taint, then moving farther back and pushing firmly into me, curling and rubbing. My cock turned rock hard and swelled as I panted and begged the holy trinity for release.

Just as she tumbled over the edge, calling my name, rubbing her pink nipples and lips against the mattress and her virginal tightness against my knuckles, I came so hard I cried out her name like a tortured soul begging forgiveness.

If only I could be forgiven for what I had become just with one desperate, pleasure-filled plea, maybe I could go on. But as it were, there was no hope for forgiveness for me. I truly was falling over the edge; I was no longer just experiencing a physical reaction to her. I was obsessed. The scarf, the fantasies, the waking daydreams that she could be mine, would want to be mine? They were wrong. They were adulterous. They were an outright deception of my family.

I didn't know what to do or how to resolve these feelings. I obviously couldn't act on them. I would destroy my family – my relationship with Esme, and every ounce of trust Edward ever put in me, not to mention the only happiness he'd ever discovered in his long life. But I couldn't contain it any longer. The next time I encountered her, I would slip. I nearly did the day prior, and it took every ounce to hold back then. What would happen if we were ever alone in the same location for more than just a few minutes? I would surely deflower her and in the process destroy my family…and myself.

I couldn't live without them. But I couldn't live with them and destroy everything they had come to cherish about this alternative lifestyle: each other. So I decided.

I would leave.

Esme would help them mend the rift in the family. Edward would be strong where I could not be. Emmet would remind them their love of family and their lust for life. I would be missed, but we would all survive.

And maybe someday, when she was turned, maybe she would no longer hold the reins on my sanity. Maybe the crazed flames of desire would be extinguished without her pungent humanity emanating from her. Maybe someday I could come back.

Or maybe not.

A/N:

So, you must be thinking: WHAT THE FUCK, woman? I know, I know. This chapter was supposed to be a big hunk of wankless plot development that would get us "to the good stuff" as so many of you have put it. Unfortunately, I started writing and Carlisle just wouldn't leave it alone. And by leave it, I mean his cock. Jesus. ::wipes brow::

I had to send this to my beta with an embarrassing note that read something to the extent of: "Erm…so…this was not supposed to be two pages of Wankfest, but alas…."

Yeah.

DazzledIn2008 didn't care, though. Dirty h00r that she is. She didn't even reprimand me for not getting to the point in the plot where I was supposed to be. She's fawesome like that.

On another note: who's going to TFMU in Chicago in a few weeks?! I will be there. With bells. And probably liquor. It's vacation, man. And, as TheGreenPuma says, you can use "I have a toddler" as an excuse for almost anything. My excuse for excessive drinking in Chicago is going to be "I have TODDLERS!" So, that's how you'll be able to identify me easily. The drunkass 30-something in her ((!)) # t-shirt screaming "I have TODDLERS!" Whee! See you then!

THANK YOU for continuing to read. I guess that estimate that there'd be 5 or 6 chapters was way off, huh? Let me know what you think. You guys always bring up stuff I've not considered and then reactively freak out on how I'll handle later…!

Next up: "The good stuff".