Handled With Care

I just finish washing the flour from my hands when the doorbell rings. The rest of me is a mess, but who's ever at the door is just going to have to deal with it. I'm a mess for a reason.

It's Edward's birthday today. And this year I decided to bake him a cake from scratch. Something I've never done before, but something I want to try.

Because Edward is an amazing boyfriend. And I want him to know how much I think he is.

I'm not sure my from-scratch cake will show him... in taste, anyway... or turn out at all... but the fact that I tried should tell him something.

And if my cake is a total flop, I can always just drop to my knees and give him a Birthday blow job. Which, let's be real, is something I'll probably do anyway. Because it is his birthday. And because he really is an amazing boyfriend. With a really amazing cock. Something I also want him to know, though I know he already does.

Not as much as I do, of course...

Especially not after this morning. When he gave it to me. And made me feel like it was my birthday...

The memory of which makes me stop and squeeze my thighs together tightly, leaving my visitor waiting outside while I try to relive it.

And apparently making them impatient, because they ring the bell again. Three times.

Hey! I'm having a moment here!

But I suppose now is not the time for that, so I unclench and clear my throat and ask who it is. Rudely, I might add.

"Delivery for Miss Isabella Swan," is what I hear through the door, and my irritation disappears completely.

Because I know that voice, no matter how hard he tried to disguise it.

"Did you lose your key?" I ask, whipping open the door, but then know the answer is no as soon as I see him.

Edward wants to play birthday games.

"Ma'am?"

"Sorry," I say, and clear my throat again. "I thought you were someone else."

"That's alright, Miss Swan?"

"Yes," I say, trying not to giggle. "That's me."

"Very good. So, where would you like it?"

"Where would I like what?" I ask with a smirk, and a single quirked brow.

"Your package. Where would you like me to put it?"

"Oh, um... just in here, I guess," I tell him, moving aside and gesturing him into our living room. "It's the only place really big enough for it."

He nods and wheels the box large enough to hold a refrigerator inside through the door and into the room.

"You know, I didn't order anything... " I say, once he has it in place in the center of our floor and his wheeled cart thingy back at our door. "And I don't see a label saying who or where it's from... or even one saying it's to me... Are you sure there's no mistake?"

"Positive, ma'am," he says, walking back to me.

"Okay," I say, eyeing his empty hands, "Well, don't I have to sign for it or something?"

His eyes go wide for a brief second, but he quickly recovers his composure. "I left the clipboard in the van. But it's not really necessary for you to sign for it. My instructions were to wait for you to open it, and then deliver your response to the sender."

"My response?"

"Yes, ma'am. He would like a response from you."

"He? The sender is a he?"

"Yes."

"And does he have a name?"

"Well, of course, ma'am."

"I'd like to know it. Before I open it. Because I don't think it would be appropriate for me to accept a package from a man unless I knew who it was first, and I then had an opportunity to decide if it was appropriate at all to."

"Any other reasons, ma'am?" he asks, instead of telling me who the sender is.

God, he's adorable... "Yes, actually, since you're asking. There is another reason for my caution. A tremendously important one, in fact. I have a boyfriend. A wonderful man, who I love very much. And who would be very upset if I were to accept anything from another. So, unless that box is from him, or my father, who I also love very much... I'm afraid you'll be taking it right back out of here. Unopened. And with no response at all, but the one that that action in and of itself would deliver for me."

"Good answer, Miss Swan."

"Thank you. So... ?"

"The sender is a Mr. Edward Cullen. Do you know him?"

"I do. Quite intimately, in fact. Though it's perhaps also not appropriate for me to tell you that, being that you're just the delivery boy."

His jaw twitches at boy, and I quickly correct myself before he ends our little game to prove me wrong. Not that that would be a bad thing... "Well, delivery MAN, in this case. Or so it appears. Not that I'm looking at your appearance... because I do, like I said, have a boyfriend who I love very much. And whose appearance is so breathtakingly beautiful that my eyes never see anything else. Or anyone."

He smiles at my declaration, because he just can't help himself, and gestures towards the box. "So, will I be taking it? Or is Mr. Edward Cullen the lucky man of which you so highly speak?"

"He is. And you will definitely not be taking it. Because I want anything he wants to give me. And I'd like you to tell him that when you deliver my other response, though I don't know what that will be yet."

"I assure you he'll get the message. Word for word."

"Thank you. So, I guess I should open it now, huh? You probably have other deliveries to make... "

"No, ma'am. I mean, yes, you should open it... but I don't have any other deliveries. You're my only one today, besides the response I'm to deliver. Business is very slow these days. The recession and all."

"Do you advertise?" I ask, eyeing his hat. "Because I don't think I've ever heard of the HANDLED WITH CARE delivery service before."

"Well, it's a new business, ma'am. We're not really off the ground yet, if I'm being honest. Or, I'm not, I should say."

"A one-man enterprise?"

"Yes. Though I'm hoping to bring in a partner. A woman. Because a man just isn't capable of doing everything without one."

"He isn't?"

"No, Miss Swan. I don't believe so. Not this man, anyway."

"And you're not afraid to admit that? And to a woman, no less?"

"No, ma'am. I'm not afraid."

"Well, I think that's very admirable. And I'd like to say that I hope you get off the ground very soon. Sooner than soon, actually. So far off of it that you reach the clouds."

"I will if you open the box."

"I'm sorry?" I ask, again trying not to laugh, this time at his impatience.

"I apologize, ma'am... it's just that Mr. Cullen is waiting for your response... and I'm not entirely certain how patient of a man he is... "

"Of course. And part of a good delivery service is the speed with which they deliver. Along with the care, of course. Which I said twice. Taking up even more of your time... and risking the reputation you're trying to build for yourself... "

"It's alright, ma'am."

"I'm not sure that it is, actually. Because Mr. Cullen really isn't very patient. Not at all, now that I think about it."

His jaw twitches a second time, and this time I don't try to hold in my laughter. "But it's his only flaw. And one I don't mind, since he's so perfect besides."

"That's very gracious of you, ma'am. He is, as I said, a lucky man."

"It's only the truth. And now I'll give you another. A woman isn't capable of doing everything without a man, either. Not this one, anyway. In this particular instance."

It's him who tries to hold his laughter now, because just this morning he accused me of not needing him. Right before he sulked. Because he had watched me kill a spider, instead of asking him to do it for me.

Something that, to be honest, I'm more than willing to let him do the next time I see one. And every time after that. Forever, if I'm so lucky...

"Is there something that I could do for you, ma'am? In this particular instance?"

"Yes. You could help me open the box. I can be somewhat accident-prone, and with my luck, or rather, lack of, I'd probably hurt myself. A cardboardcut or something. Which is probably much worse than a papercut. Which might cause you to then have to take me to the emergency room for stitches... which would prolong you delivering my response to Mr. Cullen even more... "

He reaches out and rips the tape off of the box so fast I jump, and the rest of my rambling response - which Edward says is my only flaw - is silenced. And replaced with more laughter, a chorus of it this time. Ours...

But I don't want to ruin whatever this is, this game he wanted to play, any more than I may have already, so I compose myself quickly and get back to it. "Thank you," I say, and reach up and into the box.

Tissue paper is all I feel, however, because, like I said, the box is big enough to hold a refrigerator. And I can't reach whatever else is in it. "Is there any way to open it from the side?" I ask him, "Or maybe you also forgot the ladder from your van? Because I would need one to see inside if there isn't."

"Good point," he says, looking somewhat perplexed and disappointed in himself for perhaps not thinking this part through. "And I don't have a ladder, nor is there a way to open it from the side, but I think there's a way around both. If you'll allow me to improvise?"

"Whatever you think is best."

"Step back, please. Over there by the bookcase."

The bookcase is across the room, but I back up until I'm in front of it like he asked. And as soon as I am, he backs towards the door, dragging the box with him - that I don't think was heavy at all - before pushing it to fall on its side with a thump. Or sort of a thump, anyway. A hollow sounding one.

And one that sent tissue paper tumbling out all over our floor. Something I just can't let slide...

"HANDLED WITH CARE really doesn't seem to be a good name for you. And now that I've seen you in action, I'm not so sure the recession - or your newness - has anything to do with you not getting your delivery business off the ground."

He laughs again and shrugs. "I said I needed a woman... "

"True. You did."

"You can come back now. Over here, I mean. So you can see what's inside of your package. I think you can reach inside now."

"Yes, I think I can, too. Though I'll have to get down on my knees to... "

The look on his face now tells me I definitely want to. And I slowly lick my lips, telling him that, before walking towards the open box and dropping to them for the thing he wants me to do first.

The thing he walks to stand behind me and watch me do as I bend over to.

Something that makes me clench again. And squirm just a little, since I know I have his full attention.

Well... me and Jesus, whose name he just muttered. Right before he started singing "Happy Birthday to me... "

"Is it your birthday?" I ask, wiggling far more than I need to as I pull rumpled sheet of tissue paper upon rumpled sheet of tissue paper out of the box. Something I'm starting to think is the only thing in it.

"Mmm-hmm," he answers, abandoning his ode to himself.

"Well, happy birthday," I tell him, bending even lower and pushing my ass higher into his view.

"Thank you," he says for both, though the groan that follows is, I know, only for one.

"You're welcome," I say, just as my fingertips feel something that isn't tissue paper. Something that stops my every movement - including the beating of my heart - as I pull it out of the box and stare at it.

Another box.

One much smaller than the one it was delivered in.

And hidden in.

The one Edward pulls me up from in front of as my hand holding the other trembles so hard I'm afraid I'll drop it.

Fear he sees, and smiles at, as he takes it from me and drops to his knees. Well, one...

"Oh my God... " I cry, as the accompanying tears instantly form twin waterfalls down my cheeks.

"Maybe you can forgive my impatience just once more?" he asks, opening the velvet lid. "Well... and forever?"

"I... I... I'm sorry, Edward, but can you please take off that silly hat?"

He roars with laughter and reaches up and rips it off of his head, tossing it into the empty box behind me. "Better?" he asks, looking up at me adorably.

I reach up with my right hand - because I wouldn't move my left if my very life depended on it - and run my fingers through his habitually chaotic bronze locks and smile. "Perfect."

"I'm not, Bella... but I know you love me anyway. And I want you to forever. And will spend every moment of every day of the rest of my life trying to make you. And make you happy. As happy as I can. As happy as I am. Because you love me. If you'll let me? If you'll say yes? And make me even happier? Happiness I promise I'll give back... if you just-"

"Yes, Edward. I will... and I do... and I'll let you... and give you... anything. Everything. Yes to it all. And anything else your beautiful mind could ever think up... or your patience run out for... yes. I would love nothing more than to be your wife, and have the chance to make you happy for the rest of my life."

He pulls the ring from the box and slips it on my finger. And then rests his head against my stomach. And wraps his arms around me. And stays there. On his knees. That he's on both of now.

And starts to sing again. The same song. His ode to himself. On his day. That he just made mine, too.

One I'll never forget.

Not that I could... ever...

This day that this perfect-to-me man was brought into this world.

Twenty seven years ago.

And mine.

Three.

Because we met on his twenty fourth birthday.

Shared our first kiss at the end of it.

And promises made to each other that there would be more. Promises that we've kept to each other every day since.

And that he keeps again now. To me. As he unbuttons the bottom button of my blouse, and his lips softly caress my stomach as his fingers move up to the next.

"I'm going to worship you, Isabella Swan," he whispers against my skin, looking up at me with so much devotion that my legs begin to shake. "I'll worship you forever... but I mean right now. And right here," he says, shoving the refrigerator-sized box out of his way and pulling me down to the tissue papered floor. "Because I'm flawed... " And kissing me until I gasp for air. "And impatient as hell... " Ripping my blouse from me, sending the buttons flying around us. "And because it's my birthday... " Trailing his tongue hungrily down my bared skin. "And I made you burn my cake... " Something I smell as his fingers pop the button on my jeans. Rip down the zipper. And tear them off. And then my panties... that would have melted from the heat if he hadn't... burned... like his cake... that I don't care about now. Because it's too late...

And because he doesn't want it.

He has what he wants. Is tasting it... moaning with happiness for the sweetness he's found...

Impatiently taking more.

Sweetness I'll never take away from him.

Ever.

But certainly not today...

His birthday...

The day he gave me the greatest gift that could be given.

Him.

Because all he wanted was me.

Now...

Something he's taking.

Lifting off of the ground.

And forever...

Something I can't wait to give him.

And myself.

Something he knows as I scream my response... "Yes! Yes! Yessssssssssss... " which is accompanied by another waterfall...

That would have told him, even if I'd said nothing at all.

xx

SM owns it all, I'm just having a little fun with it again. And them. Happy Sunday. Now, back to one of my 8,000 WIPs...