This one-shot was written for the Taste of the Forbidden Contest. The contest was anonymous, and now that the veil of secrecy has been lifted, I'm feeling kind of strange about it. It's dirty and wrong and wrong, and did I mention it's all kinds of wrong? Read it if you want, and if you don't, that's cool too. If it's not your cup of tea, kindly find something else to read. There are a lot of other great contest entries. Check them out on the FFn contest page (bit . ly/tasteforbidden). A list of winners (IYEH received an honorable mention!) is available on their site (tasteoftheforbidden . blogspot . com). Copies of all my stories are available on my blog (gardenofsin . net).
Summary: Bella has loved Edward since she was eight years old. During her summer break, she decides to win his heart once and for all. But prior commitments prove hard to break, and the line between family and lovers is not so easily blurred. A tale of seduction, self-indulgence, and forbidden love. Rated MA/NC-17 for sexual content.
Warning: Includes familial relations of a sexual nature. Please stop reading if it squicks you out.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended. Please do not repost this story elsewhere.
If You Ever Hunger
From the moment we first met, I was destined to fall in love with Edward Cullen. He didn't treat me as though I had cooties. He never brushed me aside because I wasn't cool enough like all the other boys did. He attended every fake tea party I hosted, squished in between my stuffed animals and dolls, a smile on his face as he pretended to sip tea from a miniature china cup.
My feelings toward him were different back then. They were innocent. Platonic. He was my best friend, nothing more. Sure I thought he was cute, the way all little girls fawn over the boys they like, but that was the extent of my feelings. I didn't look at him then the way I look him now. The way a woman sees a man.
I see his broad shoulders and sculpted arms, and I want his body wrapped around mine. I see the way his beard thickens over the course of a day, and I long for the harshness of it against my skin. I see his hands, and I need them on every inch of my body.
My desires are reflected in his eyes when he thinks I'm not paying attention. But I'm always paying attention. I've been paying attention since I was eight years old. I can remember the exact moment when he saw me as a young woman and not a child. I was seventeen and on my way to prom. By then I'd already fallen for him.
Yet somehow, even at eight, I knew he was made for me. I didn't understand love between two adults or what it was like to desire someone in the most carnal of ways. Forever wasn't a concept I could comprehend. Looking back, I'm not so sure he could either.
Because if he truly understood the meaning of until death do us part, he wouldn't have stood at that altar. He wouldn't have made a vow before his family and friends. Before God. He wouldn't have smiled down at me as I stood there in my little white dress and basket of flowers.
If he understood the concept of forever, he wouldn't have married my mother.
"Welcome home, Bella." Edward puts my bags in the backseat of his car before pulling me into a hug. I take a moment to bask in the feeling of his arms around me. His aftershave smells good. It's subtle, and I press my nose against his neck to get a better whiff. The smooth skin on his freshly-shaven jaw feels soft against my cheek. I don't pull away. Instead I wait until he drops his arms and gently pushes against me before I release him. "Are you excited to be back?"
"You have no idea," I tell him. He opens the passenger door for me, and I climb into his Volvo XC60. It smells like home. The interior is spotless, exactly what I expect of anything belonging to Edward. I glance over my shoulder. My suitcases are the only thing in the backseat. Still, there would be plenty room for two people back there. The two of us in particular.
"Your mom is really bummed that she couldn't pick you up," he says. The mention of my mother puts a damper on my fantasy, but I find it creates more feelings of irritation than guilt. It's the same story I've heard since I was a young child.
"Bella," Edward sighs, and I know what he's thinking. He's been doing damage control for as long as I can remember. Only now I'm an adult, and he doesn't need to console me like he did when I was younger. He doesn't need to explain that my mother loves me. He doesn't need to remind me that my mother is out saving lives or that she would be with us if she could.
The truth is my mother is a workaholic who puts anyone and everyone before her family. That's probably what drove my real father away in the first place.
"You're here," I add with a shrug. "That's all that matters."
It looks like he wants to say something, but instead he clenches his jaw and turns his attention to the road. I watch in silence as the airport disappears in the side mirror.
Being away from home for a year can change a person. My first year of college really brought me out of my shell. It allowed me a fresh start, and I found leaving my childhood years behind was a lot easier than I thought. People didn't see the awkward girl with braces and ratty hair. They didn't see my unfashionable clothes and bad makeup choices. I finally had the chance to be accepted as the young woman I'd grown into.
And accepted I was.
The guys pursued me relentlessly, and although I wouldn't call myself easy, I did my fair share of experimenting. As it turned out, I was pretty talented. But it wasn't the college boys I saw when I closed my eyes and took them into my mouth.
It was Edward.
That's why I vowed to myself this summer would be different. I'm not going to mope around for the next three months wanting someone I can't have. Damn the consequences.
This summer, one way or another, Edward is going to be mine.
We make small talk during drive. There's not much to catch up on as we've stayed in touch throughout the school year. About halfway home, I decide to make my first move.
"It's warm in here," I say, and make a show of fanning myself. Edward adjusts the air conditioner, but I have other plans.
I pull my hoodie over my head, going slowly so he'll have longer to look, which I know he will. Cool air hits my midriff as the tank top beneath slides up over my bra. I act like it's no big deal. When the hoodie is off and I've squared myself away, I peek at Edward. He is staring out the window, his expression a perfect slate of nothingness. I smile.
He was looking.
I take my time unpacking while Edward makes dinner. Now that I know we'll be alone, I can finalize my game plan for the evening. I leave my tank top on. It's tight and sheer enough that my dark blue push-up bra shows through the fabric. It takes me a while to decide what else to wear. I want him to look, to notice me, but I don't want to be too obvious. I pull a pair of black lounge pants from my drawer and slip them on. They were Edward's; he gave them to me when they shrank in the wash. I fold down the waistband so they hang impossibly low on my hips and take one last look in the mirror.
If this doesn't capture his attention, I don't know what will.
Edward surprises me with my favorite meal—homemade ravioli. It's his favorite as well. The recipe was handed down from his great-grandmother. The first time he ever made it for me, I was eleven. I had fallen out of a tree and broken my arm. Edward rushed me to the emergency room. He held me on his lap, singing quietly as I soaked his shirt with tears. My mother stopped by to sign a medical release form, but she didn't stick around once she saw Edward had the situation under control. When we got home, I watched as he tediously stuffed each little pillow with spinach and mushrooms. He told me his mother always made it for his birthdays and other special occasions. He said eating it always made him happy, and if I ate it too, I wouldn't be as sad about spending my summer wearing a cast.
He was right.
From then on, it became our special meal.
"Mmm, Edward. This is so good."
His eyes flash to mine as I moan again. I make a show of licking sauce from my finger. He clears his throat before diverting his eyes to his plate. "I thought you might like it after being away for so long."
I agree as I take my last bite, licking the fork clean when I'm done.
After dinner, Edward retreats to the living room. He turns on the television and settles onto the couch. I follow, taking a seat beside him. As he flips through the channels, I yawn and lie down, placing my head on his lap. It's something I haven't done for years. Once I got to a certain age, it wasn't deemed appropriate anymore. It's still not, but all bets are off now.
Edward doesn't react, which isn't surprising. He hasn't done anything to condone my behavior since I've been home, but he hasn't tried to squelch it, either. I know he secretly likes it. He likes seeing me in tight clothes, seeing my skin. He wants me near his cock.
But for as much as I know he wants it, I also know it will be hard to get him to give in to his desires. That's why I have to go slowly—to get him to make the first move. Because if I'm too forward, he will push me away. And if he does, I know my chances will be over.
The show ends and a new one begins. I wonder how much of Edward's attention is on the television and how much is on me. I can't see his face, but I don't want to look. I want him to be able to ogle my body without the fear of being caught.
I shift around, feigning discomfort. I drape one leg over the front of the couch, placing my foot on the floor. I bend my other leg and rest my knee against the back of the couch, causing my legs to spread. Cool air hits the sliver of exposed skin between my shirt and pants, and my flesh breaks out in goose bumps.
Edward flips through channels far too fast to be paying attention to what's on the screen. He stops on an action packed movie and places the remote on my stomach.
Adrenaline spikes through my veins.
His body is still. Too still. I can't even feel him breathing. After a few minutes, he picks up the remote, unnecessarily adjusting the volume. When he sets it down again, it's lower. Either he isn't aware of where he set it or he is testing my boundaries as well.
Edward rests his arm on the back of the couch. It's so close to my knee. His long fingers seem to absently toy with the cushion, but I know better. Eventually he stops, seemingly unaware that his thumb has come to rest against me.
I wait, but it appears to be the only move Edward's willing to make tonight.
Stretching my arms behind my head, I arch my back and push my chest toward the ceiling. The remote slips between my legs. Edward tenses as my hands brush against his thighs.
Without warning he stands, jostling me onto the couch.
I sit up and look at him with widened eyes.
"It's late. I should, uh…" He squeezes his eyes closed and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. "I should go to bed."
"Oh, okay." I give him my most innocent smile. "Good night."
Edward pauses, a small frown forming on his forehead. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. My innocent act must have worked, because he looks truly confused about what just happened. With a sharp nod, he turns and exits the room, whispering "good night" over his shoulder as he leaves.
The next morning, I find a note on the kitchen table.
I'm so happy you're home. Sorry I couldn't say hello in person. I was called in to the hospital for an emergency surgery yesterday, and my normal shift starts early this morning. See you tonight.
I crumple the note into a ball and toss it into the garbage can. I refuse to let my mother's absence bother me. Besides, without her around, I get Edward all to myself.
After I eat breakfast, I get ready for the day, making sure my hair and makeup are perfect. It doesn't take me long to track down Edward. He's in his office, hunched over his laptop. He doesn't notice me standing in the doorway right away, so I take a moment to fully appreciate him.
Edward is quite a bit younger than my mother. He's in his early 40s, but no one could tell by looking at him. Maybe it's because he has a full head of rich brown hair, or maybe it's because his skin is smooth, save for the fine lines that form around his mouth and eyes when he smiles. Either way, I've never thought of Edward as being older than me, even when I was only eight. He always took me seriously; whether we were playing a game or he was giving me playground advice, he never treated me like a child.
His tips on dating, however, always erred on the conservative side.
"You're too young to be kissing boys."
"Tell him no. He's not actually in real pain if you turn him down."
"That prom dress stays on or he'll be visiting your mother at the hospital!"
I like to believe Edward knew what boys thought of me because he was harboring his own impure fantasies. His advice wasn't based on fatherly obligation, but on selfishness because he wanted me all to himself. I decided long ago that he would have me; it was just a matter of time.
That time is now.
Edward is in full-on work mode. His fingers fly over the keys as his eyes dart across the screen. When it becomes clear he isn't going to notice me anytime soon, I clear my throat. He looks up, smiling when he sees me. "Good morning." He glances at the clock and corrects himself. "Or should I say afternoon?"
"I'm bored." I enter his office and slump onto a chair. "Will you bring me to the mall?"
He hesitates, distracted by whatever document is displayed on the screen in front of him. "Yeah, I suppose I can drop you off. Or you can take my car."
"Oh." I look down, not even having to fake my disappointment. "You don't want to come with me?"
"You must have friends who are in town. It's Saturday. Go out and do something fun."
"But I want to spend time with you."
Edward swivels his chair to face me. He looks torn as he glances between me and his laptop. "I don't know, Bellaboo. I've got to finish this article. The deadline is tomorrow night. I can't miss it."
It's Edward's cutesy pet name for me—a term of endearment used exclusively by him.
Growing up, I loved having a special name, and he knew it. He would often use it when he was proud of me or when he told me something important. Sometimes he would use it because he knew I would pay extra close attention. It always worked in his favor if he had to tell me something less favorable, like "clean your room" or "go to bed." But no matter what, every time he used it I felt special, because I was his Bellaboo.
Edward is using it now to deflect the situation. I know he can't tell me no. He wants me to take the hint, and he's using the nickname to soften the blow.
Well, two can play at this game.
"Can't you do it later?" My lips turn into a pout. Keeping my head tilted down, I raise my eyes to look at him. Then I launch my secret weapon. "Please, Daddy?"
Conflict wars on his face. He lets out a deep breath and takes one last look at his laptop before flipping down the top.
The mall is busy, even for a Saturday. Edward is being a good sport so far, following me from store to store and carrying my bags. He keeps falling behind. I can only assume it has less to do with him being tired and more to do with him checking out my ass. The shorts I'm wearing shouldn't be legal in the US, but I'm young enough to pull them off and old enough for it to be socially acceptable.
Once I've purchased a few staple items—shirts, shoes, more short-shorts—I make my way to Victoria's Secret. Edward pauses near the entrance.
"Aren't you coming?"
"You're on your own for this one," he says. "I'll be out here. I have to make some phone calls anyway."
"But I want you to help me pick something out."
Edward's face pales. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. "Bella," he stutters. "I—"
"Oh, my god, Edward. Lotion!" I point to the display inside. "I'm buying lotion. What did you think I needed help choosing?"
He lets out a deep breath and relaxes some, although the tension doesn't completely disperse from his body. "Of course. I'm sorry. I—" He nods toward an empty bench down the hall. "I'll be over there."
I make my way through the store with a renewed fervor. If his reaction was any indication, it's going to be harder than I thought for him to give in. That's okay, though. I've planted the seed in his mind. It's just a matter of time.
I pick out a bottle of lotion without much thought. Two bras, five panties, and one nighty later, I find Edward. He's leaning against the railing, watching the people on the floor below.
"Ready for lunch?" He's calm and collected now, like we never had an awkward conversation.
We get burgers and find an empty table in the back of the food court. I tuck the Victoria's Secret bag on the chair next to me.
"Want to see what I bought?"
"Sure." Edward adjusts the pickles that have fallen off his burger and empties a handful of ketchup packets onto the tray. He is so focused on the food in front of him that he's taken by surprise when I fling a frilly, purple thong at him." What the…?" His eyes widen when he realizes what's landed on his lap. "Jesus, Bella!"
The small scrap of fabric disappears into his fist. He shoves it across the table, eyes darting around the room as he searches for witnesses to the exchange.
"You said you were buying lotion."
"No, I said I wanted your opinion on lotion. I bought other stuff too." I pull the black satin nighty out of the bag and hold it up to my chest. "What do you think of this?"
Edward cusses under his breath and places his palm over his face. His gaze locks on the lingerie in my hands before he exhales and squeezes his eyes shut. The moment may not have lasted more than a few seconds, but I can tell by his ragged breaths and the slight reddening of his face that he looked long enough to let his imagination run wild.
"What are you doing, Bellaboo?" His voice is pained and so quiet I have to strain to hear him.
"What?" The nighty falls onto my lap, my shoulders slumping forward. I fight to keep the smirk off my face.
"You can't go around showing me stuff like that."
"You don't like it?"
My face falls.
"I mean, yes. But I can't—you shouldn't—" Edward clenches his hand into a fist and slams it onto the table. "Damn it!"
I like seeing him worked up. It means he's thinking things about me he knows he shouldn't, and enjoying them far more than he wants to admit. Deciding to give him a break, I shrug and stuff the nighty back into the bag.
"We should stop for ice cream on the way home."
Edward stares at me, his mouth gaping. I'm not sure if it's because of my indifference to what just transpired or because he's envisioning me licking a cone.
"What?" I ask again.
He shakes his head, pulling himself out of whatever thoughts he's having. "Nothing."
My mother gets home in time for dinner. She's exhausted from the long hours spent at the hospital. We make small talk while we eat. Edward is quieter than usual, a permanent frown etched on his brow. Sometimes he zones out, staring at his fork until he's addressed directly and snaps out of it.
"Hard day?" My mom reaches across the table and pats the back of Edward's hand. His answering wide-eyed expression looks panicked and guilty. "Did you finish the article?"
"No, it's taking me longer than I thought. I'll probably pull an all nighter."
"Oh." She gives him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure you'll make the deadline. You always do."
I find it strange he didn't mention spending the day with me. After all, spending time together isn't unusual for us. Working from home as a freelance writer, Edward always made time for me growing up. Whether I needed a ride to a friend's house or wanted someone to talk to, he was always there. There's no reason for it to be any different now.
"Yeah, Edward," I agree. He looks at me with the same uncertain expression. "You always get the job done." I give him a wink. He averts his gaze right away, but I don't miss the trace of a smile on his lips.
After dinner I retreat to my room and unpack my purchases from the day, organizing the items into my closet and drawers. The black nighty lies on my bed. I purchased it for no other reason than to taunt Edward, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't get some use out of it. I undress before slipping it over my head. The satin is soft against my skin. I wish Edward could see me in it, but I don't dare traipse through the house wearing it.
At least not while my mother is here.
My thoughts are on Edward as I crawl into bed. I think of his lips and his hands and the way his jeans hang so perfectly from his hips. I wonder what he looks like without them on. I imagine the hard lines of his cock and the shape of his ass. Anything, anything to keep my mind off the fact that he is downstairs with another woman and I am up here alone, with nothing but fantasies of a life that includes him as more than just my step-father.
I wonder if he hungers for me the same way I hunger for him.
When I finally drift to sleep, I dream of him. It's not a sexual dream. We aren't flirting or even touching, but somehow I know we're together. He looks happy. I am happy. The dream feels so real that I don't even realize I'm sleeping.
Until I'm not.
Reality filters into my consciousness, and my brain registers that I'm back at home, in my bed. But something is flitting on the edge of my subconscious. Something's not right.
I bolt upright. My head is dizzy with sleep and unexplainable adrenaline. There's a loud creak and a whispered curse, and then a shadow darts from the corner of my room toward the door.
"Edward?" I reach toward him, but it's too late. He disappears without answering, the door slamming closed behind him.
The next morning, Edward is nowhere to be seen. He's not in his office. He's not in the living room. The Volvo in the driveway is the only sign he's still home.
"Bella," my mother calls out. "Breakfast is ready. I made your favorite!"
The smell of French toast infiltrates my senses as I enter the kitchen. It was my favorite. When I was seven. It's not surprising that she never noticed how my tastes have changed.
The bottle of maple syrup sits on the counter, the cap and sides coated with sticky liquid. The thought of touching it is repulsive, but I put on a happy face, nonetheless.
"Smells delicious, Mom." I put a slice on my plate. She adds two more to the stack, saying something about being too skinny and musing aloud that college freshman are supposed to gain weight, not lose it. I take my plate to the table and change the subject. "Where's Edward?"
"Sweetheart, he's sleeping," she says in hushed tones. She points a finger at me and looks me in the eye. "Don't pester him today, okay? He was up all night writing, and he wants some rest. You're going to have to find someone else to entertain you."
This is how my mother operates. She thinks because she's too busy for me everyone else is too. I wonder how she'd feel knowing Edward spent some of the night tucked away in the corner of my room. I'm pretty sure he wasn't writing then.
"Fine," I say. I stand, grabbing my plate and coffee mug. "I'll be in the living room."
I spend the day lying on the couch and watching movies. It's kind of boring, but it's nice not to have class or be confined to a dorm. My mother isn't working today. She busies herself with gardening and other household chores. Our paths don't cross, which is probably for the best.
At six thirty, Edward makes his first appearance. He trudges into the room looking a little worse for wear. His hair is in a disarray, and his pajamas are wrinkled. He hasn't shaved today.
I push myself into a seated position and wait for him to continue.
"Are you hungry? Do you want dinner?"
Edward doesn't move to leave. Instead he stands in the middle of the room and runs his hand through his hair. I can tell he wants to say something, and I have a feeling I know what it is. I have to assure him that he didn't do anything wrong.
"Did you finish the article?"
He seems surprised I asked. "Oh, yeah, I did. Look, Bella, about last night—"
"What about it?"
Edward hesitates. He studies me, and I keep my expression innocent, curious, like nothing happened that requires an apology. His throat bobs as he swallows. The space between us feels electrically charged, and I wonder if he can sense it too. Finally he nods, accepting his indiscretions of the night before, and flees the room.
That night I don the nighty once again. I don't know if Edward will make another appearance or if getting caught last night was enough to scare him away. If he comes back, I want him to know his visit didn't have a negative effect on me. I want him to be able to see me in the garment that probably enticed him in the first place.
I also leave the door wide open.
The knowledge that he may come into my room keeps me awake. I don't want to miss him if he comes back. I'm typically a sound sleeper. It makes me wonder how many times he has watched me from the rocking chair in the corner of my room. The thought is exciting.
Eventually I fall into a light sleep, somewhere between reality and a dream world. My mind registers the sound of a door latching closed and, a few seconds later, the distinct creak of the rocking chair. One by one, my other senses begin to wake. The scent of his soap and aftershave permeates the small room. Goose bumps cover the skin on my chest as I fill my lungs with the aroma, and I realize the blankets are gathered around my waist, leaving my body exposed to his eyes.
I lift my arms above my head and stretch my sleepy muscles. The soft moan that leaves my body is answered by Edward's shaky exhale. He knows I'm aware of his presence. He knows it's okay.
"Hi, Daddy," I breathe.
Edward doesn't answer.
I bring my arms down, trailing my hands over my chest. My nipples are firm from the cool air, and as I roll and pluck them with my fingertips, I turn my head to the side to find Edward.
The moonlight filtering in from the window illuminates his form. I was right; he's sitting on the rocking chair, watching me. His features become more apparent as my eyes adjust to the darkness—eyes locked on my hands, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. His t-shirt is snug and clings to his body, accentuating his chest. His muscles flex, and I follow the lean line of his arm down to where it disappears inside his pajama pants.
Leaving one hand on my breast, I move the other beneath the blankets and slip it inside my panties. I keep my eyes glued on Edward and match my pace to his. There is nothing rushed or frenzied about his slow strokes. He takes his time, drinking in the moment. He's in no hurry to reach his end.
But for me, it won't take long. The sight of him alone is almost enough to make me come undone. My fingers bring me closer to the edge, and I don't even need to pretend it's him, because he's here with me, watching me, wanting me. I arch my back and whimper, my fingers slipping inside me, my hand squeezing my breast. If I learned anything from my time away at college, it's how to put on a good show.
"Daddy," I whimper.
Then it's all over.
I keep my eyes on his face as I climax, moaning and convulsing with each wave of pleasure that hits me. Edward is on his feet and at my bedside in two long strides. He pulls his cock from his pants and strokes himself. He makes no move to touch me, so I keep my hands to myself.
He watches as I continue to play with myself, his cock bobbing inches from my face. It's big and hard and perfect. My imagination didn't do him justice. I know he's getting close when his long, slow strokes turn short and fast. He places a knee next to my head and props himself over me.
Edward moans as he climaxes. His cum showers down on my chest in hot spurts. He staggers backward once he's finished. He looks shocked and disheveled. Without saying a word, he tucks his cock back into his pants and bolts from my room.
I am nervous the next morning. Butterflies assault my stomach as I head down the stairs. I'm afraid of what will happen now, afraid of how Edward will react. Last night was a definite turning point in our relationship. Whether he wants to continue what we started yesterday or end it with a screeching halt, one thing's for certain:
Things will never be the same again.
Edward sits at the table, the newspaper spread before him and a cup of coffee in his hand. I make my way into the kitchen. I can feel his eyes on me as I pour my own cup. A quick glance in his direction confirms what I already know. He is watching me, his eyes roaming my body without constraint.
I've since changed out of the nighty. It was a sticky mess after he came all over me. However, the matching tank and shorts I'm wearing now leaves little to the imagination, especially with no undergarments beneath.
"Good morning, Daddy."
Edward meets my eyes and shakes his head. "You shouldn't call me that, Bella."
"Why not?" There's a challenge in my voice. I want him to accept it.
"Because it makes me want to do very…" He takes a deep breath and leans back in the chair. His eyes wander over my body again. "… inappropriate things to you."
His admission causes me to smile. I hoist myself onto the counter. "Inappropriate like coming into my room at night?"
Edward stands from the table and stalks toward me. My heart accelerates as he comes to a stop and places his hands on my bare knees. "I think you enjoyed having me in your room, Bellaboo." He puts weight on his arms, and my legs are pushed open with the force. "I think you've been teasing me ever since you got home."
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, but I don't respond. Edward slides his hands up my legs until he's gripping my hips. With a sharp tug, he slides me to the edge. I have to place my hands on the counter behind me to keep from falling backward. He steps closer, and I can feel him hard against me. We've never been this close before. Throwing my head back, I sigh and shift against him.
Edward hooks a single finger into the neckline of my tank top and runs it from side to side. I can't believe he's being this forward, touching me so intimately of his own accord. Whatever dam was holding him back must have broken, and I hope he's in no mood to repair it.
"I've been thinking about your tits all morning." He pulls the side of my top down, exposing one breast. His mouth is on it immediately, the softness of his tongue a contrast to the sharpness of his teeth as he bites my nipple. I arch my back, pushing myself against his face. He slides my straps down my arms and switches to the other side. I shiver as the air hits my damp skin, creating more friction between us. Edward's hand finds my stomach, and his fingers just begin to slide under my shorts when the sound of my mother's voice rings out.
"Edward, I'm heading to the hospital."
Edward pushes away like touching me is the most repulsive thing in the world. He turns and faces the sink, fumbling with a dirty plate as I scramble to pull up my top. I barely get both straps on by the time she enters the kitchen.
I jump as she stands before me, hands on her hips and a disapproving scowl on her face.
"What on Earth are you doing? Get off the counter!"
I slide to the floor with a relieved sigh.
"I'll see you two tomorrow." My mother moves to Edward's side. He wraps one arm around her shoulder and leans down to give her a kiss. I don't want to watch, but I can't look away. Every second he holds her is like a stab to my heart.
Once she is gone and we hear the front door close, Edward turns to me. His expression is pained, his face pale. "I can't," he whispers. "I can't do this."
Edward vanishes to his office for the rest of the day. I know him well enough to recognize when he wants to be alone. I don't push him. There will be plenty of time to try again later when his defenses are down.
Night falls. I leave my door wide open, but Edward doesn't so much as walk down the hall. I can't take it anymore. I can't handle lying in here by myself when we are so close to being something more.
I just need one chance. I know he'll choose me if I can show him how good we can be together.
Kicking the covers from the bed, I stand and stride down the stairs. The door to Edward's room is ajar. The lights are off inside. I listen; his soft breaths are the only sound filling the room. Careful not to wake him, I tiptoe inside and crawl onto the bed.
At first he doesn't stir, but then he rolls toward me and opens his eyes. It takes him a few moments to register my presence. When he does, he lifts his head from the pillow and rubs his eyes. "Bella," he sighs. I'm convinced he's about to reprimand me. His arm juts out, but instead of pushing me away, he slides it behind my neck and hugs me against his side.
I breathe a sigh of relief as my hand comes to rest on his bare chest. He wants this as much as I do. I can tell by the way he clutches my shoulder and presses his lips against the top of my head.
"This is wrong," he whispers.
I throw my leg over his hips and push myself into a seated position. His skin is hot under my hands. "Then why does it feels so right?"
Edward runs his hands up and down my arms, warming my skin with his touch. I know the last of his reservations are gone when he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. He places his hands on my breasts, squeezing and massaging them with his palms. I can feel him hardening beneath me. This time, I want to touch him. I want to be the one to get him off.
I slide down his body. His hands reach out for me as we lose contact, but I don't leave him hanging for long. My fingers grasp the waistband of his pants, and he lifts his hips without hesitation. With one gentle tug, his cock springs free.
It is still growing as I lean down and close my mouth around the head. Edward moans. The sound is low and vibrates deep in his chest. I run my lips up and down his length, teasing him. I continue my path lower, swirling my tongue around his balls before sucking them into my mouth.
"Where did you learn that, Bellaboo?" Edward asks between pants.
"I've been practicing."
He groans as I kiss my way back up and slide my mouth down his cock. I make sure the tip touches the back of my throat before I release him.
"I thought I told you no boys until you're thirty."
"Don't worry. I saved myself for you."
Before I can process what's happening, I'm on my back. Edward hovers above me, his lips inches from mine.
"Don't tease me like that."
His kiss is frenzied. There's an urgency to the way his hand roams my body, like he can't get enough of me at once. His fingers disappear into my shorts. I can't believe how good it feels to finally have him touching me. I whimper and tilt my hips up, wanting more.
Edward pushes his finger into me, and I buck my hips against hand.
"Do you want me to fuck you?"
Edward places his lips next to my ear. When he speaks, his words are barely a whisper. "Yes, Daddy."
"Yes, Daddy." I'm surprised by the neediness in my voice. I'm terrified that he's going to stop us. I don't know what I'll do if he pushes me away again.
I moan as Edward removes the rest of my clothes. He settles between my legs and flicks his tongue against my clit. I gasp when he works his finger inside me again. I've let boys finger me before, and I have a couple toys, but nothing near the size of Edward's cock. I will my body to relax as he stretches me with another finger.
It doesn't take long until I'm coming apart at his touch. My body practically sings for him with each ripple of pleasure brought on by my orgasm. Before I can even come down from the high, Edward positions himself above me.
There is no dramatic pause, no resistance as he forces my body to accommodate him. Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to tell him to stop. I've been waiting years for this moment, for him to claim me as his own.
"So soft," Edward whispers. The gentleness of his voice contradicts the harsh way his hips thrust against me. Sensing my discomfort, he slows his pace, but only slightly. "If you're going to tease like a big girl, you're going to get fucked like a big girl, Bellaboo."
I wrap my legs around him and cling to his shoulders, letting him know I'm okay. "Don't stop, Daddy."
"Fuck, I love hearing you call me that."
The burn gradually subsides to a dull ache. The more I relax, the rougher Edward becomes. I melt into him as he wraps his arms around me, and all I can think is that I want him to hold me tighter.
Edward slows his pace as he gets closer. At first I think he's trying to hold off, but then he pulls out and strokes himself until he comes. His half-closed eyes roam my body as his breathing returns to normal. He leans down, his lips barely brushing mine before our world comes crashing down around us.
"What the hell is going on?"
Edward whips his head around. I look over his shoulder and see my mother standing in the doorway. Her face is red and streaked with tears, her hands clenched into fists at her side. I have no idea how long she's been watching us.
"Baby, I can explain."
"I think I've seen enough." She turns and disappears through the open door. Edward is off the bed. He fumbles with a pair of jeans on the floor, trying to get them on without losing his balance. I don't understand what is happening. Everything was perfect a few short minutes ago.
Edward looks at me, brows drawn together in apology. He shakes his head as he fastens the last button. "I'm sorry," he says. He calls her name as he runs out the door, barefoot and shirtless, belt still unbuckled. I flop back on the bed and pull the covers up to my chin.
She won't forgive him for this, and he deserves better than to beg forgiveness from someone who isn't worthy of his love. She doesn't burn for him like I do. He'll see.
Edward will come back, and when he does, I'll be here. Waiting. Hungering for him.