AN: I know, I'm a horrible person for letting you all go so long without a chappy. I wish this one was longer, but really, I had to stop it where I did. I just wanted to so thanks for the reviews (we hit over 100! :D) and your positive comments really helped me write. Another thank you goes to jessa76 who has sent me at least two supportive PMs every month since this fic was started.
Disclaimer: Well, nothing's mine, therefore I must own nothing. Right?
It was everything he'd thought it would be.
That little bit of splendour through the touching of two sets of lips, hers plump and pink and sweet. His eyes closed on contact and he took the moment to savour the feeling. All those times he'd kissed her skin or hair… they never compared to this. His mouth moulded to hers, and though he was hesitant to add tongue, it felt a thousand times more passionate than any other kiss he'd had.
The kiss itself didn't last long – but there was just enough time to reach a hand up into her hair where it tangled gently and then stroked the back of her head. His other hand was placed on the couch next to her thigh where it stayed for balance as he very slowly pulled back. So delicately and quiet, their lips audibly popped apart from each other. It was the best noise he'd ever heard in his life, other than her laugh and voice.
That moment of euphoria gracefully passed and his eyes opened to connect with hers. Then he froze.
Her face wasn't the portrait of happiness he'd hoped it would be, beautiful though it was. She stared at him with watery orbs of chocolate that spoke of betrayal and disgust. Her little hands came up and pushed him away, away from her, and once she had enough room, she escaped from the couch. Her light footsteps were heard running straight upstairs and into her bedroom, the door of which slammed shut not minutes later.
And he was left, sitting poised on the couch with his hand still clutching air and his lips still tingling, feeling as if his heart had fallen into his stomach.
Bella collapsed onto her bed with a bounce, tears streaming down her cherubic cheeks and soaking through her duvet. Her throat constricted so painfully that her cries got stuck and just wouldn't escape. Instead, she sobbed heart-wrenchingly into her pillow, just wishing for sleep.
How could he do that to her? His own sister?
She rubbed at her eyes furiously, knowing the areas around them were red and swollen. She didn't detect the sound of his footfalls and realised he must have still been downstairs. Her mind tossed her back to that moment, her tears falling faster.
There had been two seconds of ecstasy – wherein she pushed her lips back against his so very slightly, glad that she was seated because her knees felt so very weak – and then came the mental images. That blonde girl, Rose, fiercely locking lips with Emmett just hours ago; experiencing the exact same feelings she was, if not more intense. Why did he kiss Rose if he didn't care about her? He'd said he hadn't kissed her again, but could she really trust him?
The thought made her want to scream.
This was her Emmett, her Emmy; her protective big brother of a bear that never let anything hurt her. He's looked after her for so long. They'd never gotten into any fights. These last few years though everything just seemed to fall apart. First he distanced himself from her, and she tried to understand, really tried. She'd thought maybe it was a phase and he'd grow out of it. And he did. All was well. He asked for her help and she gave it, like the adoring sister she was. But now… he'd kissed her. And not like a brother kissed his sister. She'd never been kissed by a boy before, but she knew that, somehow, it felt like more than a sibling's kiss.
Those buried emotions; the idea that he was being disloyal and treacherous to her, it all came rushing back after those two seconds. And then she felt horrified that she was letting him kiss her and letting him make her feels things she'd never felt before. Her hormones had cried out in agony when he separated their mouths, but she was stone. She wasn't in control of her actions or her emotions and she pushed him away.
She could remember growing… excited by the thought of her brother. She could recall when she'd spied him breathing in the scent of her moistened panties. Now that actual non-familial contact had been made between them, it seemed all the more forbidden. She had reassured herself that they were just ideas, fantasies – nothing would become of them so it didn't matter.
Now that there was physical proof of her sinful desires, she was revolted by herself. These fascinations were sickening, twisted, wrong. They had to stop.
And if Emmett actually wanted her back – and she was quite sure now that it was no delusion of her own making that he did – she would have to set him straight. They were brother and sister. Nothing more.
So why must that thought hurt so damn much?