Delicious Secret

The Perv Pack's Smut Shack Picspiration, 12/22/11; fourth pic from the bottom

Bella / Carlisle

M rating

It was her little secret. Something hidden underneath the grays and blacks and whites of the conservative outfits she wore for her job. It was why she would forgo lunches out with coworkers and driving to work, or allow herself more than one evening of entertainment a week.

The reason for her austerity was hidden beneath her clothes.

The tiny strips of fabric that called themselves panties. The lace triangle bits stretched across her nipples. The garters that held up the expensive stockings. A basque, a bustier or on especially randy days, a corset.

It went beyond combating the rigidity of her job. Each day she relished in creating a secret persona and dressing accordingly to fight the sameness that saturated her working life. Some days she would be the demure coquette. Other days, a woman of aloof mystery. And there were times when she would yield to the uncompromising vixen which she kept tucked deep within herself. All of this covered by long and slim fitting skirts and tight blouses.

She found it ironic how the required dress was business formal when touching money was one of the filthiest things there was to do. Young boys would pull dollar bills from their tube socks having spent the day playing in the park. Women would dip in the cups of their bras to take out their stash. Men would go from scratching their balls on a warm summer's day to reaching into their pockets for their money clips. She stopped watching the disgusting ways money came to be in her hands and would simply go home each evening to bathe off the grime of commerce.

When she would step from her tub she would towel off and rub scented oil over her body. She would brush through her hair and swirl it into a simple, loose knot and slip on her most scandalous pair of panties that her hand would inevitably travel under each night when should would touch herself to a panting climax before drifting off to sleep.

Isabella wouldn't call herself a lonely woman, although she was alone. She'd had several lovers throughout college. Young men who liked to introduce her to their parents during visiting weekend because she looked innocent and sweet. The moment their attentions were turned, the son would move his hand down the back of Bella's jeans to grab her ass.

At the time she didn't mind, she thought she was satisfied with the lewd groping or the sweaty frat rooms with the beat of the bass pumping while she was used as a means to an end. But after a few years of this, she grew bored at the predictability of it all and sought an alternative.

Women were much more complicated lovers. Men's tastes were simple to figure out. But with a woman, each was entirely different. Languid kisses, nipples, clits and their flowering, blooming heat; it was always a delicate and sometimes difficult balance to navigate and satisfy.

Having given up women, Isabella set aside the quest for mutual physical gratification and companionship until something different presented itself.

That something different came along one Friday afternoon.

"Next, please step to window two," Isabella said in dispassionate efficiency.

She watched as a man walked towards her counter. His hair the color of clover honey. His suit was dark with a crisp white shirt whose collar had been opened, the tie having been shed.

"Good afternoon," she greeted.

He smiled like he knew her secret as she watched his eyes meet her gaze then travel slowly and unabashedly down her form. She stopped her breath from stuttering when he looked back at her and slightly raised his eyebrows and continued to give her a knowing smile.

She was completely caught out at the fact that she wasn't offended at his gall. She recovered quickly, giving her own slight movement of her eyebrows as she waited for him to make his need known.

He glanced at the name plate set atop the chest high marble surround.

"Good afternoon, Isabella. I'd like it if you'd cash a check for me."

Isabella tried to rationalize her sudden desire to please him based simply on his direct approach.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure," she said with an entirely different meaning than wanting to take care of his banking needs.

He knew it too by his low chuckle.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his suit coat, he took out the business sized checkbook and wrote out a bank draft and gave it over to her.

"Mr. Cullen, how would you like your cash?" She asked.

"I'll leave that decision up to you," he responded, almost baiting her.

She turned to her drawer and drew out the money. Mr. Cullen once again took in the view of her figure and appreciated her sinful body. The roundness of her breasts, her flat stomach leading down to her slim waist and down to the dip of her backside before the rest of her was hidden behind the counter. He imagined toned, creamy legs, thin ankles and an artful arch to her foot.

She turned back to him and with a skilled, restrained snap to the bills, she counted out his currency.

"Tell me, Miss Swan, it is Miss?" He asked audaciously looking to her left hand for any sign of a ring.

Isabella hesitated, wondering whether or not to respond. She was hit on or propositioned more than a couple of times a week. A day didn't go by without benign flirting, mostly unreturned on her behalf. But she knew Mr. Carlisle Cullen was anything but benign.

"It's Miss," she said evenly without taking any time to consider the consequences.

"Would you care to meet me for a drink after you're done here?" He asked and she stared at the color of his lips and wondered what his mouth would taste like.

"I shouldn't," she replied, trying to remember the bank's policy on customer interactions.

"That's not what I'm asking you," he said coolly in response.

She looked at him and could feel the tension rise up throughout her body. No longer did she want to be content going home to satisfy herself - if for only one night. She felt her physical reaction to this man and didn't want regret to haunt her.

"I imagine it's against the rules," she said as she dragged her teeth across her bottom lip.

He watched the scrape of her teeth before reaching into his pocket and taking out a business card and flipping it over. He wrote down what looked to be a name and an intersection.

"It's not far from here, you can take a cab. I'll be there after 6PM," he told her as he slid the card and slipped it underneath her fingers which where resting on the cool marble countertop. "I hope to see you there." He gave her a look that was entirely inappropriate for any work setting and turned swiftly and left Isabella to finger the card as she watched him walk away. She glanced at it briefly, Harry's Velvet Room, was the name of her destination after work.

"Next customer, please step to window two," she called after she had touched her throat and tucked the address into the corner of her workspace.

Isabella rationalized, as she left the financial institution, that this was a lark, an experience for the sake of experience. Much like her dabbles bedding women. If for nothing else, she would get to go to the tony night club and enjoy cocktails created by mixologists and be on the arm of a slightly older and handsome man.

She got out of the cab and walked down the alley to the entrance. The club was in the middle of the gallery district and the streets were dotted by students wanting to enjoy free wine and cheese while telling themselves they were better artists than what was hung on the walls for sale.

The doorman checked her ID and released the velvet rope. She made her way down the red carpeted stairs. Entering the room she found intimate booths made up in the same deep red velvet. A large wood half circle bar lined an entire wall, the mirrored glass multiplying the many bottles that sat on the shelves.

As she stood there taking in the sights of lush decadence, she felt a warm hand cup her elbow.

"Isabella," Mr. Carlisle Cullen said smoothly as he brought her to his table.

"Mr. Cullen," she responded, once they sat down.

"Please, call me Carlisle," he gently admonished her formality.

She looked at him, the warm votives playing with the amber and red lighting made him not just handsome, but beautiful. She hoped the lighting was a fraction as flattering to her as it was to him.

A waitress came to the table almost immediately and was obvious in her attempts to corner Carlisle's attention. Isabella did not let it bother her, she didn't care, his intent was clear from the moment he stood at her teller's window and she knew she had his interest.

"My companion will have a," he turned to look at his Isabella's curves and swells before turning back to the waitress, "Champagne cocktail."

Isabella quietly laughed to herself at the poshness of the drink. When it was set in front of her she watched the bitters covered sugar cube dissolve into the effervescent concoction.

"So, what do you do, Carlisle?" She asked, her thickly lashed eyes blinking slowly at the mundane question.

"Do you really care?" He replied in turn with cool confidence that found Isabella's tongue licking her lips.

"No, not really," she replied in enticement.

It was obvious cocktails were foreplay.

Their conversation remained superficial yet engaging. In the snug booth, both Carlisle and Isabella found themselves drawing closer to one another, both intent on the sensation of touch. After she finished her second drink, he moved his fingers to trace down the side before his thumb followed along the edge of her jaw, stopping under her chin.

"Do you have plans this evening," he whispered to her as his hand moved to her thigh.

She calmed her want as she laid her hand on top of his.

"Is that an invitation?" was her response.

"I live close by, if you'd like to leave," he offered without apology.

She handed him her coat check ticket and he helped her from the booth. After calling the car service he gathered her coat and slipped it on her and wrapped his arm around her waist to lead her out of the lounge.

Once inside the back seat of black leather, he turned her and leaned in while he left torturous kisses along her neck. When he pulled open the loosely tied knot at the neckline he continued to kiss down her neck to her chest, she gripped his upper thigh, desperate for their destination.

"Please, stop," she breathed, her eyes closing at the pressure of arousal. She wanted this to last. She wanted to enjoy the teasing, the path, the twists and turns of the journey to their climaxes.

He palmed her breast softly and whispered, "I don't want to stop," but he pulled away and looked her over impatiently.

At their arrival, he took out a simple silver key ring and let her into his home. What Isabella did see of the home she found it subdued and inviting if not upscale. If his home was a reflection of him, then it was unnecessary for blatant ostentation.

He helped her off with her coat and removed his, hanging them in the foyer closet. Without any words, he led her to an upstairs bedroom.

"I'm pleased you're here," he said into the dip of her neck and shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck and scratched her fingers through his hair.

"As am I," she murmured as he pulled his hands reverently down the front of her just barely sheer top.

He unbuttoned the tiny black pearlescent buttons of her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders. Next he reached around her and undid the hook of her skirt and pulled the zipper down as he watched it fall away from her hips and into a circle on the floor. He moved her towards his bed, while ghosting his lips over hers.

"I want to kiss you," he smiled against her lips at the irony that she was stripped down to her sheer and lacy, strappy secrets.

"I want that, too," she gave him a closed-mouth smile. He moved a half step back and ran the tip of his finger tracing the cupid's bow of her upper lip and down around her pout of a bottom lip. Isabella watched as his focus did not leave her mouth. The moment he removed his finger, she leaned in and closed her eyes as his mouth met hers.

Their movements were slow, momentarily content to enjoy the exploration. Tongues licked and teeth bit. Isabella's fingers moved from Carlisle's hair to his chest as she effortlessly undid each button. She then broke the kiss and took one then the other wrist in her hand and dexterously flipped the release of his cufflinks and dropped them down to a soft thud on the rug. She removed the tailored shirt from his shoulders and took in the vision of his torso.

He was a man. His toned chest with a smattering of dark blond hair, the strength of his shoulders and the definition of his abdomen were all evidence that this is something she had not yet experienced. All of her previous lovers had set her up for this as she leaned forward and tasted his skin. She removed the shirt from his shoulders as she kissed his neck and moved further down.

Carlisle was tormented by the licks across his nipples and the light scratches down his chest. Taking her hips in his hands, he softly pushed her away. The filmy glow of the streetlights and city lit the room. Taking a step back, he took her hand in his and held up their arms and with his other hand, circled his finger in the open space.

"Turn around for me," he said quietly. He wanted to see what she hid beneath her clothes since thoughts of it had seeped the edges of his mind ever since he had left the bank.

Isabella twirled slowly, feeling the hot appraisal against her skin. The dampness between her legs increased and her nipples pressed lasciviously against the black lace of her bra.

When Carlisle saw the back of Isabella, he didn't stop himself from releasing the tab of his trousers and bringing down his zipper.

He couldn't call what she was wearing as lingerie; it was so much more than that. It was art. On her, the intricate fabric; the straps, the dips and crisscrosses, were a beautiful complication. Her fair skin in contrast to the black Chantilly lace made him ache with want.

"You're stunning," he said as his eyes moved over her once again. Left there in her panties, bra, almost translucent thigh-high stockings and the high heels from her banking outfit, she was trite in the fantasy, but he didn't mind. There was something to be said for the classics.

"Thank you," she said in whisper.

She moved back slightly and looked appraisingly at her evening's lover. "Undress," she commanded as he stood there slightly stunned.

He quickly recovered himself as a small smile crept across his face. Books and covers had just been proven to be wildly different.

He unlaced his black wingtips and set them aside. After pulling off his socks and placing them in his shoes, he stood back up, the pants hanging off of his hips at an enticing angle.

"Everything," Isabella instructed, twisting her mouth to keep her smile in check.

Carlisle continued with a small, confident smile as he brought his trousers and boxers down to his ankles. He stepped out of them and after pushing them aside he started to close the distance between them.

Isabella watched as she swallowed thickly at the sight of him. She was entranced by the beautiful straight bone of his clavicle that moved framed his shoulders and gave way to muscular arms and a defined chest. She stopped her perusal when she got to his cock. It was substantial without being obscene. Keeping her gaze upon him, she moved her hands around and unhooked her bra and tossed it to the side. She went to remove her panties before Carlisle stopped her.

"Let me," he said as he moved in front of her.

Isabella nodded her head slowly and she opened her mouth and inhaled at the delicate touch on her hips. He slid his hands down gathering the straps and moved them off her backside while he gently palmed her ass. Isabella moaned quietly at his touch.

He then removed them the rest of the way moving down to the floor as she put her hand on his head and stepped out of her garment. He kissed her just above the small strip of hair above her pussy and stood back up.

"My stockings?" She asked. "My shoes?"

"Christ, leave them on," he said slowly. Again, he knew it was an old fantasy, but it was too good to pass up for the sake of originality.

"Get on the bed," she told him as she softly pushed on his chest. He pulled her to the bed and down with him until she was straddling him, sitting just above his cock.

"Did you think of me this afternoon?" She asked and she nibbled at his earlobe.

"God, yes," he replied as he felt her wetness and watched as she sat back up and played with her breasts.

"Did you hope I'd be in your bed tonight?" She continued to tease him as she leaned forward again. "Did you want this?"

"Yesss," he hissed out as she leaned over and opened the bedside drawer and found what she was looking for.

She moved back and took the package between her teeth and fingers and ripped it open. Carlisle looked at her mouth, her carnal desire caused his breathing to speed up. She scooted back and in a smooth stroke, sheathed the condom over his cock then cupped his balls making him move his hips and arch his back in anticipation.

"I think I'm a lucky woman tonight," she said as she positioned herself and moved slowly down onto him. "Am I lucky tonight?" She asked as she rolled her hips back and forth.

"You tell me," he replied as reached up a hand to her breast. His fingers moved to firmly pinch her nipple and she let out a soft moan.

"Yes, I'm very lucky tonight," she said as she began to move up and down at a faster pace. "Fuck me, Carlisle, fuck me," she demanded.

Taking his cue, he flipped her onto her back as she propped her high heel shoes up on the duvet. He took one leg and brought his fingers down over her calf and thigh and rested it over his shoulder.

He thought their next round he wanted to taste her, to feel her folds and clitoris along his tongue. To watch as she writhed in delicious desperation waiting for him to bring her to a shuddering high before she floated back down to feel his mouth over the rest of her body. But for now, he focused his attentions on bringing them both to that shuddering high.

Their pace continued to escalate until it bordered on frenetic.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder, Carlisle," she cried with her eyes closed.

"Yes, feel me, feel me inside of you," he answered back as he found her clit and began to expertly circle it.

"Oh, so close, come on, come on baby, please, please, please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," she cried again as her hips pumped him in and out of her. "Oh God, yes, right, uh, yes, right there, more, more, more," she chanted before letting out a series of moans and cries into the cool darkness of her lover's bedroom.

"That's it baby, yeah, that's it, yes," he said as he climaxed at the twitching spasms of her walls around his cock.

"Fuck," he said as he brought her leg down and pulled out of her before lying flat on his back next to her. His chest rose and fell while he tried to catch his breath.

Isabella turned over and kissed his shoulder. "That was wonderful, thank you."

He chuckled lightly. He got up to go the bathroom and removed the condom and upon returning, saw Isabella was getting dressed.

"Don't leave."

She ignored his plea as she pulled her blouse around her torso. "I need to go," she said not wanting to face the next morning with her evening's actions obvious to all she passed on the street.

"I'll take you home in the morning," he continued to try and persuade her.

Having fixed her hair, she walked smoothly over to him. "You're sweet," she said as she kissed his lips. "I enjoyed myself tremendously."

Seeing she wasn't going to change her mind, he quickly regained his manners. "Let me walk you down, I'll call a cab for you."

"Please, don't, I'll be fine, I'm not far from here, it's not late either." She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. Their tongues played slowly before she pulled away and ran her fingers down along his jaw. "Good night," she said giving him one more quick peck before turning and leaving.

Carlisle sat on the bed listening to her steps down the stairs and finally, the click of his front door. He wondered what had just happened. Not wanting to dwell, he quickly got up and took a shower before getting in bed and falling to sleep.

When he awoke in the morning, he went down to his kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Lying on the counter he found Isabella's panties and a note.

He picked up the silk and lace and brought it to his nose, enjoying the feminine scent of her lust and want.

I don't just work Fridays if you need to cash a check again.


a/n Just a note, Harry's Velvet Room was a real place in Chicago, it closed a while ago, but it was swank back in the day.