Taste of the Forbidden Contest
Title: Open the Door
Rating: M (for smut and Mormons)
Word Count: 5,266
Summary: You don't always realize you've knocked on the door of sin until it's too late to leave. Mormon missionary Edward knocks on Bella's door.
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all except the plot, which pokes a little fun at her religion. Be warned, this may be offensive to the religiously sensitive.
I should have known the dangers of going to college near a Mormon temple. You're always in jeopardy of bumping into missionaries, no matter where you live, but moving next to one of their temples is like inviting them to knock on your door.
And that's exactly what happened.
My friend Alice and I rented a tiny house, a block away from our university. Another mistake. If I'd lived in the dorms, the missionaries would have never knocked on our door.
Alice was out with her boyfriend that rainy Saturday afternoon. I used the rain as an excuse to wear slippers around the house and vacuum. I had moved on to popping a load of towels in the wash when the knock came.
This was our second year in this little house and never once had we gotten unexpected visitors at the door. It was also raining outside—why would anyone be out in this weather?
I abandoned the towels without starting the washing machine and approached the door softly, quietly. I'd heard a few classmates talk about missionaries knocking on the door. "They'll smile real pretty and make you feel like a shit for not talking to them. Don't answer the door."
If it was missionaries, I planned to make a swift retreat and act like I wasn't home.
I squinted through the peephole and, sure enough, two missionaries were on my doorstep. They wore matching suits, blue ties, blue nametags, and even matching smiles. I probably would have turned away and never thought of them again, if I hadn't taken a further look. The one on the left was gorgeous. He had the golden boy look down all the way to his blond hair and blue eyes. The one on the right made me breathless. Even through the cloudy eyehole, I could see his sparkling green eyes, brightened by his reddish hair. Most interesting was the playful way he twisted the umbrella in his hand.
I felt a little sad for them, standing in the rain for what they undoubtedly valued as God's work. I wasn't religious. My mother had played with Buddhism for a while and my father's only church was his fishing boat. Still, they raised me to have morals and values like any upstanding citizen. Maybe rudely ignoring them wasn't the right thing to do.
I opened the door and smiled shyly. "Can I help you?"
"Good afternoon," the blond said brightly, relieved someone had answered the door. I vaguely wondered if they'd been knocking on doors all day. "We're from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints."
I scrunched up my nose. "Uh…Mormons?" I clarified, unsure if there was a second religion running around in ties proselytizing to the masses.
The green-eyed one's grin broadened. I suddenly got the feeling he was forcing his eyes to stay on my face. I conscientiously crossed my arms, wondering if I was showing more cleavage than was acceptable in their religion. I had been cleaning alone in my own house. I was allowed to wear a spaghetti strap.
"Yeah, Mormon is an accurate description, or LDS," he answered.
Glancing closer, I saw their nametags: Elder Cullen and Elder Masen. "Elder? You don't look old," I said, leaning in toward Elder Masen to see his nametag better. He smelled good, possibly from some kind of masculine body wash.
Elder Cullen nodded. I could feel the excitement radiating from him, thrilled I was showing interest, however minimal. "It's a position of priesthood in our church." I still didn't get it, but he continued. "We'd love to tell you more about our faith and Jesus Christ—if you're interested."
"I—" I faltered. Elder Masen with the green eyes was still holding that unbearably perfect smile. If he were not dressed so immaculately and reeking of purity, I would have asked him out for coffee. Some eye candy for my dreary afternoon might not be so bad, though, and the boys looked like they needed a break from the rain. "Sure. Come on in," I said. I thought inviting two strange men into my home wasn't so bad since they were Mormon missionaries.
They thanked me and stepped into the entryway. "I'm Bella Swan."
"I'm Elder Cullen."
"Elder Masen." The green-eyed one tapped his nametag.
"Nice to meet you," I said, letting them close their umbrellas and set them against the wall to drip on the tile. I thought about their wet shoes and detoured to the kitchen, keeping my freshly cleaned carpets pristine. Alice had bought an adorable knockoff antique table where I directed my visitors to sit.
"Would you like a drink of water? Or I have some Coke," I offered, gesturing to the fridge.
"Water, please," Elder Cullen said, sharing a quick look with Elder Masen. I had the feeling I'd made some unknown faux pas.
"Water for me, too," Elder Masen said. I was arranging three glasses of water when I remembered something about Mormons not drinking caffeine. Well, that was silly, I thought, passing them the glasses of water. Suddenly nervous, I took a seat closest to Elder Masen.
"Sorry," I said. "I forgot you all don't drink caffeine or I wouldn't have offered."
"Not a problem," Elder Cullen assured me. "Happens all the time."
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, painfully aware that while they looked my age we had absolutely nothing in common. Maybe I was just wasting their time inviting them inside to talk.
"So, how does this usually work?" I asked, struggling to keep myself from devouring the eye candy beside me too obviously. His Book of Mormon sat ominously between where our hands rested on the table.
Elder Cullen chuckled, perhaps a little nervous himself. "There's no set lesson or anything. You could start by telling us what you already know about us."
Thus began an awkward conversation about the LDS church. I don't remember much about the conversation. What I do remember is the way Elder Masen wiped sweaty hands on his pant legs and how plump and kissable his lips looked. I remember his dark green eyes straining to look into my face and the three times they failed. I remember the heat through my body when I felt him looking at me like I was a desirable woman. I unexpectedly wanted to be converted, if only to see Elder Masen again.
Thirty minutes later, still scratching my head over what they had told me, I had a few questions of my own.
"How long do you two have to do this—missionary thing?"
"Two years," they answered in unison, grinning real, unpracticed smiles this time.
"We've been doing this for six months so far," Elder Cullen explained.
"What about college and—the rest of your lives?" I asked, sincerely curious.
Elder Masen shrugged. "God's work is more important."
And at the time, I think Elder Masen really believed that.
It was for selfish reasons I pretended to be interested in their church. The truth was I couldn't let Elder Masen leave without the hope of seeing him again. I took his Book of Mormon, promising to read some before their next visit Tuesday afternoon when I finished with classes.
It was an odd read, for someone whose only experience with religious text was from hotel bibles. It was more like a narrative than I had expected, but…I didn't really understand the deep meaning I was meant to find in it. Elder Cullen had spoke of it like with was divine literature.
So, I did what Elder Cullen has gently advised me not to do. I got online and researched. First the book itself, which I discovered they held up as scripture along with the regular bible. Then I found myself entrenched in articles about Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, and polygamy. I decided, since I was already overloaded with information, I would see what the internet had to say about missionaries.
My mouth dropped open, staring at my computer screen.
No wonder they seemed so practiced and professional. They were taught how to smile. Creepy. More significant was the strict regulations they were under. They were discouraged from most forms of entertainment and even phone calls home. And while I had been under the impression that Cullen and Masen had been their first names—reversible names that they were—they were in fact their last names. They were also not supposed to share their first names with me.
I also discovered why missionaries were always in pairs. As assigned companions, they were never to let the other out of their sight during their mission. They lived together, ate together, converted together, everything together except going to the bathroom. Seriously, they were required to share a bedroom.
All to stay physically safe and physically pure. By all accounts, they were both virgins, too. After that revelation, I had to get off the computer. I was in over my head.
When Alice got home late that night, I confessed my sins. When I finished telling her about my visit with the missionaries, she was lost to a five-minute giggle fit.
"I just—I just can't believe you're stringing along these innocent guys so you have some eye candy."
I crossed my arms. "Alice. They're hot. And they wear ties." As if that made a difference.
"I know what Mormons look like," Alice said. "And it isn't hot. You must have a Mormon kink or something."
I stuck my tongue out at her. "You could hang around when they visit next Tuesday if you want to see for yourself."
"No freaking way," she said vehemently. "I'm going to purposely schedule a long study session in the library. You're on your own."
Tuesday came and I realized, as much as I liked Elder Masen, it would be hard to romance him under the conditions of his mission. Particularly with Elder Cullen supervising like a watchful bird of prey. We chatted innocently about what I'd read in the Book of Mormon, each of them sharing testimonies of why they believed in it so fervently.
I didn't hear much of what Elder Masen said. I only processed the passion he spoke with as his eyes lit up and his hands moved to express what his mouth could not. I wanted him to feel that passion for me, not a book. I was growing dangerously attached to my Mormon, falling deep and fast.
They stayed for an hour on the second visit and at the end, Elder Cullen looked between me and Elder Masen and then asked me a cautious question. "Bella, would you be more comfortable speaking to a pair of sisters?"
Elder Masen jerked his head, barely hiding his look of horror as he glanced at his companion. It was like getting a person in a play to break character. I lost my uncertainty about my own act. I didn't know where this was going, but I would play along for at least one more visit.
"Sisters? Like—female versions of you?" I said, having no intention of taking up his offer.
"Yes. Some girls prefer to talk to other girls," Elder Cullen said. "I know Sister Platt and Sister Hale would love to meet you."
A bit my lip, playing up my uncertainty. "I don't know. I already feel comfortable with you two. Is it okay if we keep up these visits? I don't want to rush into anything."
"Sure," Elder Masen hurried to say, one of his rare, untaught smiles on his face again. "We'd be happy to come again."
I grinned. Come again. I wondered about the rules of self-pleasure for missionaries. After all, Elder Masen had time alone in the shower every day. I hoped he thought of me the next time he came. "Great. We'll meet again Thursday?"
"Thursday at four," Elder Cullen confirmed. I heard the tension in his voice. The tension was what drove me to investigate. I showed them out the door and pressed my ear to the wood, listening. I only heard Elder Cullen say, "We need to be careful with her," before they walked out of range.
I should have felt guiltier. Here was an innocent boy trying to fulfill his calling, and I was trying to screw it all up for him. And screw it up I would, if I succeeded in my goal, because certainly, I wasn't going to convert for him. I remembered my mother's foray into Buddhism for a man. Bad idea. I would only join a religion if I felt it in my whole heart. All I felt in my heart was Elder Masen.
On Thursday, our visit felt more like a conversation than a strained lesson. Both Elders were excited to talk about their faith to me and when we stumbled upon marriage, I found myself taken in by their enthusiasm for the first time.
"Marriage isn't until death do us part," Elder Masen said, holding his eyes intently on mine. "It's eternal. Beyond death."
I felt warm down to my toes.
I couldn't help myself. "I can see the appeal."
They continued telling me about what their church could offer me, when I remembered something from my research. "I have to ask something."
"Anything," Elder Masen prompted, earning an exasperated look from his companion.
"Why are you known for polygamy if you don't actually practice it anymore?" There were sectors that continued to practice polygamy, but from what I'd researched, the main church did not recognize them.
My visitors looked uncomfortable at my new topic, although Elder Cullen swiftly explained. "At the time, it was something the people needed to survive when they were driven to go west to Utah. Women needed protection, a husband. It's not something we approve of today. Not at all," he emphasized.
I didn't wholly believe his story, but I could understand why they would want to sweep that history under the rug. Many religions had pasts they weren't proud of today.
"I'm glad. I don't think I'd ever be able to share my future husband," I said, unable to look away from Elder Masen. He blushed.
"It's something to think about," Elder Cullen said loudly, breaking up our moment. I wasn't surprised when he made their excuses and left with only promises of returning next Tuesday.
I listened at the door again. "I think she could really be our first success," Elder Masen said.
Elder Cullen snorted. "For your sake, I hope so."
I spent the rest of my night trying to keep a smile off my guilty face.
Alice walked in and after one look said, "If you become a Mormon, I'm moving out."
Tuesday came and the topic drifted from church to me. I told the missionaries about my boring life, exempting my kooky mother. I was studying to be a teacher—I laughed when Elder Masen said he would be doing that too, after his mission was over.
It was their longest visit yet and I'd pumped them full of water. I wasn't surprised when Elder Cullen finally gave up and asked where my bathroom was. "It's the first door on the right," I said, jittery with nerves. I would have a moment alone with Elder Masen. He looked equally pleased, the real smile appearing fleetingly.
"Bella," he whispered. "Can I ask you an honest question?"
"Yes, anything," I said breathlessly.
"Are you…are you serious about this?" He pointed to the Book of Mormon I'd been slowly reading my way through. "I need to know," he said desperately.
I swallowed. I couldn't lie. I couldn't to his sweet, hopeful face. I knew when I answered this would be over. They couldn't waste time on me if I wasn't respecting their religion and their purpose as missionaries. I took a deep breath and leaned forward. "I'm serious about this," I said. Before I could lose my courage, I pressed my lips to his, showing him the passion I wanted him to feel for me. I grabbed his tie, tugging him closer.
Pleasure shuddered down my back when I felt his hesitant, guilty return of my kiss. "Bella," he sighed. I sucked in his hot breath, panting against my mouth. "I can't—" His hands dove into my hair, kissing me hard and fast. He pulled back, casting his eyes to the table.
Where the book laying there brought him back to his senses.
"Can you at least tell me your name before you go?" I asked softly, feeling the disappointment I always knew would come after I decided to play this reckless game of pretend.
Elder Masen smiled. His real, true smile blinded me with its beauty. "It's Edward."
Elder Cullen returned, glancing between us suspiciously. I think he had a decent idea what had happened during his bathroom break. "We need to be going," he said, straightening his tie as a signal for Edward to do the same. Edward's cheeks reddened and he hurriedly fixed the tie I had loosened.
There was an awkward moment where no one knew what to do. I picked up the Book of Mormon and handed it back to Edward. He reluctantly accepted it.
"Give this to someone who has an open heart for it," I said, looking for one last time into his green eyes.
I listened at the door one last time after they left. The silence told me all I needed to know.
Alice took me out for coffee to show me the benefits of not being Mormon. "You really don't want to be Mormon. Could you give up the delicious taste of espresso?"
"No," I said glumly. "But no one would need to know if I drank it on the sly, right?"
"You would be a terrible Mormon. And I get the feeling your Elder Masen needs a woman who can name the Ten Commandments."
"You're right. He needs a temple recommend kind of woman."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Mormon stuff," I said. "Hey—want to go take a peek at the Mormon temple? I told Elder Masen I would, but I didn't get the chance before. Well. Before I made out with him."
Alice laughed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Let's go do a drive by."
We drove to the temple, only a short drive away. It was a magnificent, off-limits building. Beautiful to look at, yet it would take real dedication to get inside it. Edward could get in, I thought. He was the perfect Mormon. He paid tithes, was in church every Sunday, studied scriptures and prayed regularly. I could never do that.
I was apathetic to religion.
"It's pretty," Alice said. "What do they do in there that's so special we can't get in?"
"Marriages, baptisms, other stuff we didn't get to before our sessions ended."
She put the car in park at the very back of the parking lot. "Are you sure you aren't going Mormon on me?"
I laughed darkly. "I'm sure."
"Did you ever think about converting your Elder Masen to your side of things?" she asked.
"He's so genuine, so passionate about his beliefs. I loved that about him. I wouldn't want to tarnish that with my ungodly ideas." I sighed. "Besides, it's not just a religion. There's a culture to it. It's not something he can just give up."
"People do it all the time," she said.
As tempting as it was, I couldn't do that to my missionary. I didn't want to be his downfall.
A week after Edward left, I found myself watching reruns on cable in my pajamas and slippers. Alice had texted she was too lazy to come home from her boyfriend's house, which was just code for she was too tired to drive after having sex all evening. I tossed my phone away, irrationally angry at her happiness.
My missionary was on my mind.
It was nearly midnight when a knock came, three solid taps. I froze, searching for my phone to see if Alice had come home after all. Why would she knock, though? I adjusted my pajamas, making sure everything was covered and presentable. I was once again in a spaghetti strap top and shorts when I opened the door to Elder Masen.
He was wearing casual clothes this time in the form of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He looked like a wet dream. "Edward? What—what are you doing here?"
He smiled weakly. "I'm sorry to show up like this. I hope I didn't wake you. Can I come in?"
"Sure," I said, letting him follow me into our dinky living room. I turned off the television, remembering missionaries were discouraged from watching it. Then again, they were more than discouraged from leaving their companion. Yet here he was. "Where's Elder Cullen?"
"Asleep. I'm praying he doesn't wake up and notice I'm gone. He'll report me for sure." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. "And he'll know exactly where I went."
Edward nodded. "I can't stay away from you. The thought of never seeing you again—I can't stand it," he said. He walked closer to me, grabbing my hands and pulling me to sit beside him on the couch.
"What about your mission? You still have a year and a half left."
"I know. I know," he said, frustrated. He let my hands go, rubbing his face tiredly. "This mission was meant to reaffirm my faith, not leave me doubting and questioning everything."
My heart broke. "I hope that's not my fault."
"No, Bella. It's not your fault. I…I'm sure I look like the ideal Mormon on the outside. The sisters certainly think so. But Elder Cullen is a far better Mormon than I am. A far stronger man, too," he confessed. "You know, we aren't supposed to hug the sisters, let alone date them. But Elder Cullen is head over heels for Sister Platt. He'll have to wait until his mission is over to do anything about it, no matter how much he wants her. Some of us wouldn't follow the rules so closely. Carlisle—Elder Cullen—he will. If he were in my shoes, he never would have come here tonight."
I bit my lip, trying to stay focused on my new goal. I was giving Edward up, not seducing him.
"I'm not good for you. I'm not Mormon and I can't ever be Mormon," I said. "I just don't have the heart for it."
Edward closed his eyes. "I don't care. I want you."
"You don't mean it. It's this tank top talking," I said, trying to lighten the mood. I crossed my arms, hoping to banish the temptation.
"That's the same one you were wearing the first day we met," he said, staring more openly than he had that rainy day. "I was trying to be polite but I just wanted to stare at your tits," he confessed.
"Tits?" I giggled. "Can you say that?"
"I'm Mormon, not a monk," he teased. The young man underneath showed through. Yes, he had the exterior he portrayed to the world as a Mormon missionary. There was also the man underneath. A passionate man who loved his God, his church, and his family. Family was so important to him, I remembered. His family who would be devastated if he was sent home early from his mission.
"Edward. Maybe you should go before Elder Cullen wakes up and see you're gone. I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."
He paused. "Do you not want me here?" he asked uncertainly.
"I do want you here. I want you to stay all night," I said truthfully. "But I don't want to ruin your life, either."
"It won't ruin my life. Plenty of missionaries go home in shame," he said jokingly. I heard the worry in his voice, though. He didn't want that for himself.
"Tell me…why did you come back to my doorstep?"
"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said. "That's why I came back." He reached out, cupping my face. "Do you feel the same? Honesty only, please."
"I do. I really do."
"Then don't try to send me away again," he ordered and found my lips with his own. There was no table between us this time and we embraced with everything we had. Hands wandered over arms, shoulders, and chests as we kissed. I took the lead, deepening our kiss with my tongue. His mouth tasted minty. He'd prepared for this, I thought distantly. It brought a tremor down my spine. My missionary had gone into sin with forethought.
The couch creaked beneath us as Edward gently pressed me down, maneuvering so my legs wrapped around his jean-covered hips. There was no question Edward was enjoying this when I felt his hard member grind against me. His mouth traveled down to my neck, nibbling gently. I lost it when his hands moved to cup my ass, bringing me even closer to his confined cock.
"Shit," I hissed, then immediately clapped a hand over my mouth.
"Bella, I'm not a saint. Swear all you want." He grinded against me again. "I want you to express your pleasure however you want." I moaned, feeling the hard heat of him against me. Wetness coated my panties. "Yeah, moan like that. Sounds—so good," he panted.
I felt empowered by the pleasure coursing through me. I nudged him into a sitting position, kissing him long and urgently until he was trying to get me into his lap.
"C'mon. I don't want to do this on this uncomfortable couch." I took his hand and, laughing together, we scampered to my bedroom.
"I love your room," he said reverently. "If only because of what I'm going to do to you in it." I giggled as he pushed me onto the bed. I reached up and removed my top, exposing my breasts without an ounce of shyness anymore. He stared. "Beautiful."
"Let's make it more even. I'm not the only one getting naked here," I said, reaching to grasp the waistband of his jeans while he ripped his shirt off in one fluid motion. His stomach was firm, lean. "Do you need help with these?" I asked, playing with the waistband. He nodded, unable to speak. I wiggled down to the end of the bed, getting onto my knees and reaching for the zipper constraining his cock.
"Bella—" He stopped himself as my hands slowly pulled the zipper down. I licked my lips in preparation while I worked his jeans down. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. Completely naked. He was so much better than any fantasy I'd had. "What about making it even?" he asked, referring to my bottom half.
I grasped the base of his cock, effectively shutting him up when I licked the tip. He breathed in loudly, almost choking as I leisurely wrapped my mouth around him and sank him deep to the back of my throat. I bobbed my head once and tongued the tip of him again before he wrenched away.
"I'm going to come if you keep doing that. And I don't want to be done yet," he said, helping me into a standing position before knocking me down onto the bed. "I want to touch you first. I want to make you feel good."
"You do," I said.
"I want to make you come," he continued. His hands traced up my thighs as he fell to his knees. He held the back of my legs and yanked me to the edge of the bed. He settled between my knees and then he whisked my shorts and panties out of the way. The air was cool against my wet core.
I gasped and bit down on my lip, determined not to swear again. "Please."
"I want to worship your body," was the last thing he said before his mouth began to trail its way from my knee to my wet slit. Every inch he came closer, my panting grew sharper.
"Shit, shit, shit." I couldn't stop myself when his tongue found my center, running along my folds and back to my clit again. He held my thighs as they squeezed around him. I quivered wildly as his hands crept gradually upward. He sent me over the edge with his fingers pumping inside of me. I came with a lengthy, helpless moan.
With one last lick, he put my legs down and stood up. "I am not going to do this missionary style. Lord help me, I can't live up to that label," he said with a boyish grin. The real smile again
I gazed up at him, still a little dazed from my orgasm. "Condom?"
"Will you hate me if I tell you I bought these on the way over?" he asked, reaching into the back pocket of his fallen jeans. "I threw out the box and stuffed them in my pocket. Not the best idea, but I wasn't going to let you guess what I was—uh, hoping for."
I giggled softly. "That's somehow a turn on for me. You're lucky."
"I am so, so very lucky," he said, fumbling with the wrapper. I watched with a thudding heart as he slipped the condom on. "Not missionary, love, so—" Without warning he effortlessly flipped me onto my front. A fresh wave of wetness escaped me. I obligingly got onto my hands and knees, predicting what he wanted from me.
I expected him to immediately thrust inside. I was pleasantly surprised when his hands caressed up my backside and to my breasts, squeezing them adoringly. One hand disappeared to guide his hard cock to me, hot and slippery against my dripping opening. The latex made it a little easier for him to push in, stretching me around his cock. He groaned, gripping my hips tighter.
"That is—good, so good," he whispered. I twisted my neck to look at him. His face was in full rapture, eyes shut, mouth slightly open. It was the sexiest image I had ever seen. I let my hips rotate, bringing him deeper. He hissed and it was his turn to lose it. He pounded into me relentlessly. I whimpered and gasped, trembling around him. His hands never left my body, always keeping that extra connection between us.
When he came, he collapsed on my back, pushing me forward in one last final thrust. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath before he finally slipped out. He brought our naked bodies chest to chest and kissed me slow, gentle. The perfect ending.
Near dawn, we stood on my doorstep after a short-lived night together. I shuffled my feet, unsure if this was goodbye for now or goodbye forever.
"Thank you," he said. "I…I'll never forget you." He leaned down to kiss my forehead.
And then I knew. This was goodbye forever. "Well, in case you do, you know where I live."
Edward only smiled, and turned to leave.
Long after he left, I puzzled over that smile. Had it been his real smile or the careful façade? I didn't know why it was so important to me. It was a tiny thing to worry about. For months afterward, I wondered about that smile until I finally closed the door on a question I would never have answered. I suppose, in that way, I had finally begun to comprehend faith. There were some things you just didn't understand.