Contest entry for the Twi-Fic Text Message LOL Contest
Title: Tatted Hips and Wicked Lips
Word Count: 7,022
Summary: Bella Swan can't stand Edward Cullen. She hates his tattoos, his piercings, and his stupid band. But mostly she hates how badly she wants him. He hates her too...or so she thinks. Will one iPhone fail change everything?
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction using characters from the Twilight world, which is trademarked by Stephenie Meyer. I do not claim ownership of said characters. I just like to make their body parts have metaphorical thoughts and feelings. No copyright infringement is intended.
If there is one thing on God's green earth I can't stand, it's Edward Anthony Cullen.
Unfortunately, our parents have been dating for the last several months. Then one day towards the end of this past summer, they came up with the brilliant idea to move in together.
The next thing I know, I go from being an only child to living with another eighteen-year old who leaves the empty milk carton in the fridge and throws his dirty clothes all over the bathroom floor.
Edward also makes tormenting me his favorite past time. What makes it worse is that he happens to be the sexiest person I've ever met.
I hate him.
"EDWARD!" I scream, pounding on the kitchen door leading to the garage.
Edward doesn't hear me over the blast of music. I stomp through the kitchen and living room, walking outside to the garage door. Loud, punk-metal music pours from beneath the garage attached to our house. My fist beats against the door in vain.
I bend, ass in the air, ignoring the sound of the thirteen-year old neighbor kid crashing his bicycle into the nearby shrubs. My fingers grasp the metal handle on the garage door, and I use all one hundred and twenty-five pounds of me to yank that metal handle up. It doesn't budge.
The sound of music intensifies, crashing and shrieking against the pounding of my fist. Emmett McCarty's bass fills the air. Jasper Whitlock's drumsticks smash against the drums, then the cymbals, filling the air with the rhythm of angry, oppressed teenagers.
I'm practically yanking my hair out by the roots when the song finally closes. The only sound now is cheering, slightly stoned boys.
"EDWARD!" I holler, kicking the door in distress.
Edward lets out a low, sultry curse at the sound of my voice. Butterflies flutter and quiver in my belly, taunting me with the way my body reacts to this cocky, self-centered asshole of a boy.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself for the umpteenth time that I hate him. I swallow dryly, put on my bitchface, and plant a hand on my hip.
The garage door makes a popping sound as it slowly rolls up. I'm silently cursing Cooch, who's already throbbing in my panties at the sight of Edward's ratty old chucks. The next thing to come into view are his tight black pants, emphasizing the strain of his hard muscles against the soft, worn fabric. I can see the contours of his impressive cock right through those jeans, and holy crap, he's not wearing a shirt. The deep V of his abdomen is next to appear as the door lifts.
There's a thin line of bronze-colored hair trailing from his navel down to the Holy Land. A tattoo of a microphone peeks out from his waistband, near his groin, creeping up to the edge of his left hip. A tattoo of a gun peeks out from the other side, crawling over his right one.
The pecs on his cut chest are sweaty from dancing and thrusting his guitar in the air. I know this because I secretly watch him from time to time through the window in the kitchen door that leads to the garage.
Colorful tattoos of lyrics and quotes dance along his arms. The door is completely lifted, and all thoughts of cursing him for playing too loud flee cowardly from my mind as I stare at the metal in his face.
Mother freaking viperbites.
"Traitor," I whisper, glancing down at the seam of my jean shorts where Cooch hangs her metaphorical head in shame.
Edward raises a pierced eyebrow and stares at me in confusion and irritability. He's made it no secret that he finds me strange and annoying. My whispered statement obviously has him reeling. I shake myself from my thoughts, praying that he doesn't notice the strain of my nipples through my shirt.
"Could you please keep it down?" I huff, glaring at him for the way he makes my body react. "I'm trying to study and I can't concentrate. Your music is completely annoying."
"Really?" he smirks, crossing his tatted arms over his chest. "Is it as annoying as that country music shit you cry over every single night?"
"Hey, you watch your dirty mouth," I whisper in horror. "George Jones is a legend."
"I'd rather have someone drive wooden stakes beneath my fingernails for the rest of eternity than listen to that crap on a daily basis," he snorts, taking a step forward.
"Yeah, well I'd rather have someone shoot me in the head with a nailgun repeatedly than listen to that crap you play every day!" I spit back, taking a step forward as well.
"Is that so? Well, I'd rather someone hit me in the nuts with a baseball bat than listen to Merle Haggard!" he seethes, stepping forward and taking deep, ragged breaths.
"I'd rather be stung by a million bumble bees and take a bath in alcohol than listen to your crap all day!" I scream, glaring up at his tall, lanky frame.
"I'd rather slit my wrists with a rusty razor blade and jump in a pool of bleach than listen to Loretta Lynn!" he screams back.
We're standing inches apart. I'm so close I could slap him, punch him, or throw him on the ground and ride him reverse cowgirl style. His pale cheeks are a delicious shade of pink and I imagine smacking them.
"WHAT THE HELL?" he hollers, pressing his long, lithe fingers against his reddened cheek.
"I hate you!" I lie in a heated whisper.
"I hate you, too!" he sneers.
My eyes dart from his cheeks to his hard, pierced nipples. The cool metal ring in his left nipple is begging for me to pull and twist it.
I twist it.
"YOU BITCH!" he yells, as I trip and stumble backwards.
I'm running like a bat out of hell, cutting across the lush, bright grass that his father, Carlisle, keeps trimmed on a regular basis. I don't make it very far before his hands are wrapped in my flimsy shirt, yanking me backwards against his toned body.
A frantic yelp leaves my lips as we both lose our balance and topple on top of one another in the grass. The next thing I know, Edward's got my boobs in his hands, twisting my nipples in retribution, giving me a severe purple yurple. Jasper and Emmett are standing nearby howling in laughter.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you like this," he smirks, pinching my traitor nipples harder.
Cooch nods her head in agreement.
"Get off me!" I groan/moan, as his fingers go from hard twisting to gentle tweaks.
"What did you say?" he asks, grinning down at my fuming face. "You want me to get off in you? I don't think so, Dimples."
"Stop calling me 'Dimples!'" I groan, as his fingers finally leave my nipples.
Edward gave me the name 'Dimples' the first time our parents forced us to go swimming together, claiming it was some sort of 'bonding' experience for all of us. When Edward saw the two dimples situated over each of my ass cheeks, he immediately donned me 'Dimples' and has called me that ever since.
Edward grins down at me, hovering over my body. The dark copper hair on his head is a sexy mess, shining under the presence of the sun, which rarely makes an appearance in rainy Washington. There's a rough dusting of scruffy hair running down his jaws, begging to be touched. His lips are full, pink and wicked, pleading to be kissed.
He's beautiful, silhouetted by the sun behind him. I feel the annoyance slip from my body as I gaze up at him. The cockiness wavers on his face as he gazes back down at me, and an almost gentle look crosses his features before he replaces it with a scowl. He pushes his body away from mine, but not before I feel...it.
I swear I feel his hard cock twitch against my thigh.
"Will you guys do us a favor?" his friend, Emmett laughs. "Will you please just screw and get it over with?"
"I wouldn't screw her with your dick," Edward mutters, glowering down to where I lay sprawled on my back.
"You can use mine," Jasper pipes up, shooting me an evil grin, the sun glinting off the silver hoop in the corner of his bottom lip. "I'm ready, willing, and able. Anytime, Bella. Just putting it out there."
"Thanks, Jasper," I mutter, taking the hand he offers me.
Jasper pulls me from the ground with such strength that I crash into his chest. I'm not the most graceful person, so I titter on my feet a bit. Jasper places his hands on my waist to help steady me. I give him a bashful smile.
"If you two are finished flirting, I'd like to get back to practice," Edward growls, glaring at his friend, who immediately drops his hands from my waist.
Jasper gives him a sheepish grin, looking like a five-year old boy who just stole from the cookie jar instead of a tatted, teenage boy with metal on his face and unruly blonde hair. Edward stalks off with Jasper in tow, leaving Emmett and I standing alone in the yard watching as they walk away.
"You know that kid's in love with you, right?" Emmett asks, raising a pierced eyebrow, crossing his arms over his burly, muscled chest.
"Who, Jasper?" I ask, glancing up at his snickering face. "Eh, he's not really my type."
"You and I both know I'm not talking about Jazz," Em chuckles, causing my eyebrows to shoot up on my forehead.
"You mean Edward?" I gasp, aghast. "Ew. Edward can't stand me, and I can't stand him."
Emmett snorts, rolling his big, deep-blue eyes. He starts to pass me, walking to the garage, only to pause and give me one hard slap on the ass that sends me howling in stinging pain.
"Keep telling yourself that, Dimples," he laughs, giving me an evil wink as he saunters back to the garage.
Edward witnesses Emmett's display, of course. He's standing in the garage shooting daggers between me and Emmett with his eyes. His glaring face is the last thing I see before he yanks the garage door back down. Within seconds, angry, rhythmic music pounds from the garage at twice the intensity as it did earlier.
Cooch starts swaying with a figurative lighter in her hand.
What do I do? I do the only thing that makes sense. I take my red, stinging ass upstairs, lock my bedroom door, and fall into bed.
Cooch starts screaming in protest, so I cave and finally give her the attention she's been demanding all day long. I think of Edward's glaring face hovering over me the entire time.
Our parents go out for a night on the town that evening, leaving us to our own devices. Edward has avoided me since our earlier encounter, which is fine by me. Just the thought of his face makes me sick...with lust. I played with Cooch all afternoon getting no results. I swear the bitch is on strike, and I curse her every day for it.
I pace around my bedroom, throwing some clothes together for my first day of classes tomorrow. It's my senior year, and to tell you the truth, I'm super nervous.
My first year of school at Forks High was odd, to say the least. The boys here drool over me like I'm the first piece of ass they've ever seen. And the girls? Most of them hate me. They look at me like I'm some sort of alien or something. I don't fit in very well with my cowboy boots and faded jeans. The girls in my class dress like a horde of sluts. That's just not me. My style is more simple and southern, just like me.
Mama and I moved to Forks, Washington two years ago, all the way from South Carolina. Moving to Washington was like moving to another freaking country. As soon as I opened my mouth to talk, people stared at me like I was speaking Swahili. The only friend I have is Angela, who is a transplant from New Jersey. She has the greatest accent known to man. I can listen to her all day long.
After picking out my outfit for the next day, I go in search of my diary. Yeah, I know. I'm a little old for a diary. Sue me. It has all my dirty, vengeful thoughts of Edward hidden inside. I'm too embarrassed to confess my hidden attraction for him to Angie, and there's no one else to talk to around here. My mother would die if she knew about my love/hate Cooch-crush on her boyfriend's son. She'd probably ship me off to some alternative school or something.
I yank back my purple comforter and search the confines beneath the box spring and mattress to no avail. Cursing, I struggle to hoist the stupid mattress up and peek underneath. Nothing. Falling to the floor, my eyes dart desperately beneath the bed, finding nothing but a pair of dirty socks and dust bunnies that cause me to sneeze.
"Where in the world can it be?" I ask myself, sitting back and drawing my knees to my chest, frowning.
Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning.
Pure horror seizes my chest. Crap! He's constantly hiding my belongings around the house. He loves to sit back with a grin on his face, watching as I frantically tear the house apart, only to watch me put it back together again. If he finds that diary I'm so screwed! It has every smutty little fantasy involving him in it!
I stand, stumbling across the beige carpet, and fling my bedroom door open. Edward's stupid iPod dock is blasting his idiotic music from his bedroom across the hall. Snatching the doorknob in my hand, I twist it and lurch forward into the room, not even taking the time to knock.
Edward's sitting on the balcony sneaking a cigarette wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. I freeze for a moment, taking in his toned hips and thighs beneath the moonlight. Cooch wakes up, but I tell that bitch to back down. Edward doesn't notice me from where he's sitting on the metal chair outside, not until I'm shoving his mattress halfway up in the air.
"What are you doing?" he snaps in a panicky voice, darting from the balcony and across the room.
"Where'd you put it?" I demand, ignoring his question as I shove my hand under the mattress, searching desperately for my little green diary.
"Put what?" he asks, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me backwards.
"My diary!" I huff, hyper-aware of the way my ass is now pressing against his pelvis, causing me to falter slightly.
"I don't have your stupid diary!" he grunts, as I dig my nails into the edge of his mattress.
He's pulling and I'm tugging. My rear slams against his groin over and over. It's like we're simulating sex, and it would be almost comical if not for the fact that I'm terrified he's lying to me about my stupid diary.
My hand is under the mattress again. My fingers brush against something that feels like a book. I barely have my fingers wrapped around it when Edward gives my hips one last hard pull. The two of us topple into a heap on the floor and I hold my prize high above my head.
"Ha!" I holler triumphantly, expecting to find my diary in my hand.
Except it's not a diary in my hand. It's a magazine...but it's not just any magazine. It's Bootylicious magazine; the world's leading magazine for booty lovers. At least, that's what it says on the cover, right under the photo of a large, round booty.
What. The. Hell.
"What the hell?" I whisper in horror.
"Give me that!" he groans, wrestling me for the magazine.
"No, I think we should talk about this!" I laugh, somehow managing to crawl out from beneath him.
I make it to the hallway and dart downstairs, giggling with Edward on my heels. He's cursing and spitting, jumping around in a weak attempt to snatch the glossy magazine from my outstretched hands. A slightly oiled, tan ass gleams across the surface of the spank mag. Cooch sneers at it in obvious jealousy.
I trip on the edge of the Persian carpet and fall on the living room couch. Edward jumps on top of me like a spider monkey.
Twisting around, I'm now facing him pinned between his legs. We play tug-of-war with the magazine until he finally snatches it from my fingers, flinging it across the room.
I'm wiggling beneath him, pushing his chest, trying to shove him away. He grabs my wrists, holding them over my head and against the armrest of the chair, glowering down at me menacingly.
"Do not tell anyone about this," he hisses, with flashing, dark eyes.
"About what? The fact that you're an ass-man?" I ask, struggling to maintain a straight face while simultaneously keeping Cooch at bay.
"I despise you," he growls, leaning down dangerously close to my face.
"I loathe you," I reply in a whisper, glancing from his pink, pouty lips to his jade-green eyes.
We're both panting. Another inch and we'll be kissing. The thought makes me wet my lips in anticipation. Edward's eyes dart to my mouth. The sight of my tongue running over my lips causes him to give a predatory-type growl.
The jade-green eyes turn black as his face descends closer. I'm about to close my eyes when the flash of Carlisle's car headlights pour through the living room window.
We both let a mutual, muttered curse and frantically untangle ourselves from one another. We fall from the couch, and a sharp pain stabs the back of my head as I slam it against the coffee table.
"Are you alright?" he asks in an unfamiliar, worried voice.
"Yeah," I mumble, squeaking as he pulls me to my feet.
Edward picks me up, bridal style, and darts up the stairs. My head is swimming, dizzy from the fall and the feeling of being held by this boy. He takes me to my bedroom and lays me gently on the bed. I rub at the bump and gaze at his troubled face.
"I'm fine," I assure him, shoving a weird sensation in my chest away. "Go get your magazine before Mama and Carlisle find it."
Edward's eyes widen in horror. He nods before ducking out of the room. I fall back on the mattress and groan, tingling in places other than the knot on my head.
"Bella, text Edward and tell him breakfast is ready," my mother demands, early the next morning.
I grumble in protest. My fingers are still cramped from the Edward love-a-thon that lasted from late evening well into early morning. No matter how much respect I pay Cooch, she never returns the favor. She raises her head indignantly, even now. I swear I'm about to die from sexual frustration.
"Selfish bitch," I mutter to my treacherous vagina.
"Excuse me?" my mother gasps.
"Not you, Mama," I sigh, grabbing my phone from the kitchen table and shooting Edward a quick text. "Doesn't Edward know we're eating breakfast? Why do I have to text him?"
"Because he's a teenager and he's never far from his phone," my mother answers, her soft green eyes dancing while ruffling my long, brown hair. "Just like you."
"Whatever," is my intelligent response.
I hate texting. I'm clumsy, so clumsy that my fingers sometimes slip and slide against the screen, causing more than one iPhone fail in my lifetime.
Heaving a great sigh, I shoot Edward a text and drop the phone. I dig into my Trix with gusto because, hey, they're Trix; the most awesome breakfast cereal known to man.
Carlisle, Edward's father, is sitting across from me reading the newspaper and looking like a car salesman, probably because he is one. He has that whole 'slicked-back hair, devil's smile' thing going one. He's actually a pretty alright guy.
Carlisle takes a break occasionally from reading to nibble on some toast my mother has prepared for him. It's slathered in homemade apple jelly, created by the masterful hands of my mother herself.
Technically, Esme is not my mother. She was college roommates and best friends with my biological mother, Renee. When Renee became pregnant with me during her senior year of college, she asked Esme to be my godmother. My mother passed away two years after my birth in a freak accident and Esme has been caring for me ever since. As for my father's identity, that is a secret my mother took with her to her grave.
The tell-tale sound of Edward's feet thumping against the stairs can be heard. Cooch starts a one-woman mosh pit in my skinny jeans. My cereal is suddenly fascinating to study, as memories of the 'almost kiss' play through my mind.
I engross myself in the rainbow-colored, mechanically-processed bits of crunchy goodness as he falls easily in the chair beside me. The scent of some boyishly delicious cologne wafts from his freshly showered body. I shift in my chair, staring down at the bowl in front of me. A sharp pain in my foot draws me from my faux fixation.
"Shit!" I holler, dropping my spoon.
"Oops," Edward snickers, pulling his foot away from mine. "Did I just step on your toes? My bad."
"You did that on purpose, you bastard," I sneer, turning to face him.
"No, I didn't, you bitch," he grins, glancing down at the bowl of mass-produced, fruity goodness sitting in front of me. "Silly Bella...don't you know Trix are for kids?"
Edward's gaze slips from my face, skirting down my neck and ending on my chest. The way his eyes trail along my body tickles my skin. I feel my nipples begin to tighten. I curse, glaring and crossing my arms over my boobs as though I'm frustrated, and not aroused.
Edward smirks, not fooled a bit as he wets his lips. The sight of the silver ball on his tongue ring gliding across his bottom lip, and the tip of his pink tongue wetting his top one, turns me into a big pile of goo.
My mouth drops open and I stare at him stupidly, momentarily forgetting the fact that he just called me a bitch and stomped on my foot. Edward raises an eyebrow meeting my gaze. The sound of Carlisle clearing his throat snaps us both to attention.
"Play nice, kids," Carlisle demands, his sky-blue eyes critically examining us over the top of his newspaper.
"I always play nice, Pops," Edward replies smoothly, side-eyeing me with a wicked smile.
My response to Carlisle's comment is that of a mature teenage girl. I start humming an old favorite tune below my breath, enjoying the way Edward's smirk melts from his face. His skin pales and his eyes dart around nervously.
"What is that song you're humming, Bella?" Carlisle inquires, noticing Edward's expression as I gather my dishes.
"It's a Beyonce song," I reply, shoving the chair behind me as I stand. "You've never heard it? I'm shocked. It's Edward's favorite song."
"What's it called?" Mama asks, joining Edward and Carlisle at the table.
I snicker, grinning at Edward's narrowed eyes.
A spoon flies by me, hitting the marble floor with a clang. I giggle, shaking my ass all the way to the sink.
Cooch shakes her head at me in obvious disappointment.
School sucks, although I'm not sure why after twelve years of torture this continues to surprise me. There are only two bright spots in my day.
The first one is when Lauren Mallory, the class bimbo, gets into a catfight with Tanya Denali, second in command of the bimbos. It results in a pretty impressive fist fight. It's all fun and games until Lauren socks Tanya in her big, fake, right tit causing the silicone to explode.
I feel pretty bad for the poor girl...bad enough to sing 'Taps' and solemnly salute her busted boob while she lays strapped to the gurney as the ambulance drives her away.
The second bright spot comes in the form of the tiny new girl named Alice. Angie and I are sitting outside on a picnic table during lunch, critically staring at her while eating our apples. The raven-haired girl is sitting on a grassy hill wearing a peasant skirt and cowboy boots, blowing on a harmonica. She's horribly off-key, grating on everyone's nerves, and obviously not caring. I love her instantly.
"There are others among us," I whisper in a conspiratorial voice to Angie, while tipping my head towards Alice.
Angie nods in agreement, with her heavily painted eyes shining. Her hair has a ginormous Jersey poof and she's wearing a glittery orange shirt that makes her look like a flashing caution sign.
"We must claim her as our own," I conspire, standing and making my way across the grass.
Alice's eyes are tightly shut as she is engrossed in her horrible music. I cringe as she hits the crescendo and eventually ends with a short toot. The girl sighs dramatically, a wistful little smile playing on her lips. She opens her stark green eyes and peers up at me curiously.
"Your harmonica skills are killer," I tell her, nudging one of her boots with the toe of my own. "You wanna come sit with us?"
Her eyes sparkle at the familiar twang in my voice and the sight of my boots. She nods enthusiastically and follows me to the picnic table. The three of us bond over our three favorite W's: Willie Nelson, whiskey, and weed.
"Who is that guy staring at you, Bella?" Alice asks in awe, running her fingers across the shiny surface of her harmonica, as though it is a very different type of instrument.
I follow the direction of her gaze and find Edward glaring at me two tables down. He's flanked by his horde of idiots, Emmett, Jasper, and Mike Newton. The three of them are whispering to one another, glancing occasionally to where we sit. I flip Edward the bird and turn to Alice.
"That's Edward, my mother's boyfriend's son," I tell her, rolling my eyes and sinking my teeth into my forgotten apple.
"He's the blonde? With the crazy, floppy hair?" Alice asks, practically swooning as she molests the poor harmonica.
"Oh, um, no. That's Jasper," I reply, stunned that a girl would be so dreamy-eyed for Jasper Whitlock above Edward Cullen.
"He's so pretty," Alice sighs, practically drooling.
"You should find out if Edward and the guys are coming to Newton's back-to-school pool party tonight," Angie whispers, with twinkling, mischievous eyes. "We could totally hook Alice up with Whitlock!"
I ponder Angie's suggestion for about a nanosecond before nodding in approval. If Edward comes to the party, I know Jasper will show up as well. Hooking Jasper up with Alice would get him off my back, literally and figuratively. Jasper's persistent flirting is wearing me down, and I know he only hits on me because of his slight obsession with country girls.
I whip out my cell, shooting Edward a hasty text. I tease him in the text telling him I'm wearing a swimsuit that he hates to the pool party. The first time I wore it, he groaned with disgust and ran inside the house hollering that he'd kick my ass if I ever wore that swimsuit again.
I walked around with a wounded ego for about a week after that before deciding I didn't care if he found my body disgusting, lacking, or whatever. I still put that swimsuit on and strut around the house from time to time, basking in the looks of horror it draws from him.
As I finish texting, I glance up and catch his intense stare. The vengeful way he sometimes looks at makes me squirm. He breaks his eyes away from mine and stares down at his phone as it vibrates in his hand. His face turns pale as he reads my text. I wrinkle my brow in confusion. When he glances back up, I swear there's lust playing on his features.
Edward tilts his head to the side, raising one questioning eyebrow. I'm not exactly sure why his gaze is questioning. Is he silently asking if I'm really going to Newton's party?
I nod hesitantly and he gives me a lopsided, wicked, smile that makes Cooch cry out in desire. I squirm uncomfortably on the picnic table and jump at the vibration of my cell in front of me.
It's about damn time. I've been waiting for the day you'd break down and let me touch you. I can't wait to lick every curve on that sweet apple-bottom ass - Edward
"Arggghhh!" I yelp, dropping the phone like a hot potato, causing Angie and Alice to jump in fright.
I glance over to where Edward is sitting, but he's gone. I can make out the back of his black shirt and his sloppy, saucy hair just as it disappears inside the school.
"What is it?" Angie asks, snatching the phone from the table.
I'm in a heart-fail, too shocked to protest as she takes my phone. Angie peers at it for a long moment before gasping, then bursting into fits of laughter.
"Oh my gawd. You don't even realize what you texted him. Do you, Bella?" she snorts, handing me the phone.
I hold the phone like a diseased rat, peering down at the tiny words. At first glance, I notice nothing wrong. At second glance, I nearly die.
Come to Newton's party tonight. I'll be there wearing that tiny blue bikini you just LOVE. I know you want to lick my ass every time I wear it. Come to the party and you can lick it alllll night long - Bella
"I meant to type 'kick my ass,' not 'lick my ass,'" I groan, slapping the side of my head.
"You told Edward Cullen to lick your ass...and he agreed!" Angie cackles, tears streaming from her glitter-encrusted eyes.
"Bella...your brother wants to lick your ass!" Alice exclaims, a little too loud for comfort.
Several people turn to stare at us, but when they see Angie shoot them the death glare, they quickly drop their heads.
"He's not my brother, step-brother, or any other relation," I remind my tiny new friend, gazing down at his strange text once more.
"I wonder what part of your ass he wants to lick," Angie muses, her eyes sparkling evilly. "Does he just want to lick the curve of your ass...or maybe the crack? Do you think he wants to lick every nook and cranny?"
"My crack is a no-lick zone, my friend," I declare, tossing the apple core in a nearby trash can as we stand. "Besides, he's just messing with me. Edward Cullen doesn't want his tongue anywhere near my ass."
"What if he does?" Alice questions, grinning sadistically. "Would you let him?"
"No way!" I declare, flinging the doors to the high school open.
I'm lying. Alice knows it, Angie knows it, and Cooch...that two-faced bitch is throwing on her swimsuit as we speak.
I'm a nervous wreck the rest of the day. Each time I see Edward sauntering down the hall surrounded by random band-groupie chicks, I duck into an empty classroom. I studiously avoid him and any further comments involving ass-licking. My palms are sweaty and my panties are soaked. Cooch has partied all day long and I'm really getting sick and tired of the backstabbing tramp.
When I get home, I take a good long look at the girl in the mirror. She's got long, mousy brown hair and wide, startled mocha eyes with the body of a twelve-year old boy. Okay, so my body's not that bad...but it's not that great either. There's no way Edward Cullen was serious in his text. What could he possibly see in me? I'm a nobody...just a Washington transplant with a country accent who he loves to torture on a daily basis.
Then it hits me. Edward is setting me up. He's going to take my iPhone fail and use it against me. He probably thinks I really want him to lick my ass. I bet Edward, Jasper, and Emmett shared a good laugh at my expense. They're probably at the party right now telling everyone what a loser I am because I begged Edward Cullen to...lick my ass.
I throw on my swimsuit, a white sundress, and my favorite boots deciding I'm not going to let the ass-man ruin the first party of my senior year. I jump in my hunk of junk pickup truck and pick Angie and Alice up. The three of us head out to Newton's house chatting excitedly about the possibilities of the night.
The party is in full swing when we arrive. We shimmy down to our swimsuits and head inside. Newton's parents are tucked away somewhere, ignoring the fact that underage kids are drunkenly tearing their house apart. Newton is one of those rich kids who I'm jealous of, yet simultaneously feel sympathy for. His parents allow anything to go down, all in the name of their son's popularity among his peers. It's kind of sad, however, having a couple of parents who'd rather their son bask in the glory of others than actually giving a crap about the destruction that it entails.
Angie abandons me for a boy named Ben, who's a member of the Beta Club with her. Alice drifts over to the stairway leading to the second floor. She removes her harmonica from the tiny bikini top she wears and begins tooting away along with Ke$ha, whose voice is pounding from the speakers.
The party wears on and I spend the majority of my time pretending I'm not looking for Edward. I'm pissed off when after two hours, he's still not here. I share a blunt with a dark-haired girl named Leah, who I vaguely remember working with on the yearbook staff. We smoke blueberry yum yum and get terribly lit.
"Have you heard that new song by Brad Paisley?" she asks, blowing smoke in my face.
People assume since I'm country that I love all things country. I roll my eyes and take the blunt from her, wandering from the pool area and around to the front lawn. Kids stare at me as I blatantly chief the blunt, but I honestly don't care. Edward's probably told them all that I'm obsessed with him licking my ass. I'm sure they're all laughing at me behind my back.
There's a bottle of good old Jim Beam stashed between the seats of my rusty truck begging just to be sipped. My truck is all the way at the end of the driveway practically sitting in the ditch. I weave through the abandoned vehicles and open the creaking driver's side door. I'm cursing the darkness of my busted interior light when I feel a set of warm hands drift along my hips. I freeze, blunt hanging from my lips and slowly turn around.
"Sharing is caring," Edward purrs, taking the blunt from my astonished mouth.
He's shirtless, with tattoos spattered across his pale flesh. A pair of boardshorts hang low from his hips, the infamous V screaming my name. Cooch wakes up and starts doing the Dougie in my bikini bottoms, jerking and quivering. I swallow dryly and gasp when he leans forward.
"Shotgun?" he asks, one pierced eyebrow raised in question.
I nod dumbly and he gives me a sideways grin. He wraps those pretty pink lips around the blunt, takes a deep drag, and leans further forward.
I meet him halfway, brushing my lips against his own. Ours noses gently caress one another as our lips part. Edward lazily blows the smoke from his mouth and I deeply inhale. Neither one of us move, not even after I release the smoke from my own mouth.
My shock and nervousness eventually slip away. I'm giddy. The weed and the close proximity of this boy makes me silly. When he seductively whispers, "Are you ready for me to lick that ass?" I burst into snorts of laughter.
"Edward," I giggle, covering my hysterical chuckles with one hand. "When I texted you it was supposed to say 'kick my ass' not 'lick my ass.' You know what a fail I am at texting!"
"Fuck," he mutters angrily, the dirty word slipping from his lips sinfully sweet as he backs away from me.
"Oh, come on," I scowl, taking the blunt from his hands and finishing it off. "Isn't this all just some sort of ruse anyway? Where's Emmett and Jasper? Hiding in the bushes, waiting to watch you humiliate me? Let me guess...they've got their phones ready to record it and upload it on Facebook for all our friends to see? Please. It's not like you find me the least bit attractive. You've had your fun. Move along now."
I wave my hand dismissively at his pensive face, tossing the remains of the blunt in the nearby grass. I turn, digging around between my seats as I continue my search for Jim Beam. I let out a high-pitched squeak as Edward roughly grabs my hips, slamming his pelvis against my ass.
"Does it feel like I'm attracted to you?" he hisses in my ear, grinding his hard length between my cheeks.
"Ye...yes!" I moan, clutching the leather seats between my fingers.
Cooch wakes up from her restless slumber. She cranks up some Marvin Gaye and starts swaying. I can practically hear 'Let's Get It On' playing in the background.
"Are you going to let me do what I've been dreaming about all summer?" Edward asks, his voice full of lust and venom.
"Yes!" I chirp, because, hot damn I'm weak and Cooch is about to explode.
"That's what I thought," he chuckles darkly.
Edward stops grinding and grips the sides of my bikini bottoms. His fingers ghost across my skin, lingering below the surface of the material. I cry out as he yanks the bottoms from the back, roughly pulling the material between my legs, giving Cooch a good, hard tease. That hooker is appreciative, too. She's practically weeping in excitement.
Edward pulls and tugs at the material for a while, chuckling wickedly at the whorish moans escaping my lips as the bottoms rub harshly against me. When he tires of that, he yanks at the strings and removes the bottoms altogether. By this point, I'm face-down against the torn leather seats of my Chevy with my ass exposed for anyone to see.
"I love these dimples," he murmurs, pressing his thumbs in the tiny indentations of my lower back, spreading his other fingers across my feverish flesh.
Edward's unruly hair and hot breath brush against my rear. I feel his tongue, hot and wet, start at the curve of my right cheek. He moans and groans, working his way across each side of my ass. The vibration of his grunts cause me to tingle at massive proportions. I press my bottom against his tongue and feel his teeth nipping at me as he grins.
"What do you want, Bella?" he purrs, his mouth drifting away from my flesh.
I can't form a coherent sentence, not that it matters. He knows what I want. His long fingers drift between my legs and he gives Cooch a good, firm handshake. I grunt, sounding like a dog in heat pressing Cooch desperately against him.
"You don't know how long I've wanted to touch you," he groans, his admission causing me to grow impossibly wetter.
Edward teases me for a bit, slowly rubbing circles, pinching and pulling, twisting and tugging. He presses one, then two fingers deep inside me. They move in and out torturously slow, and I start moaning like a streetwalker.
"Shhh...you've got to be quiet," he whispers, dipping and diving, wrapping my hair around his free hand and gently tugging me against him. "Are you ready to come, Bella?"
"Yes," I groan, between clenched teeth, panting as he thrusts further.
My body slaps wetly against his fingers. He spreads and curls them, hitting that happy place deep inside me each time. I come undone, clenching around his fingers, curses falling from my lips. His movements slow as he slips his fingers from my body and releases my hair. I fall across the seat of the truck, spent and exhausted.
Cooch lights a cigarette, kicks back, and relaxes for the first time in months.
"Thank God for iPhone fails," he laughs, slapping me on the ass, causing me to yelp.
I turn and glare at him, rubbing my sore ass. Edward snickers, bends down, and grabs my bikini bottoms. He tosses them at my chest and I catch them easily. I struggle to tie the bottoms back on, my eyes darting up and down the abandoned drive for anyone who happened to see us. Thankfully, it seems to be deserted aside from the two of us.
Edward shoots me one last grin and starts walking up the drive to the party, adjusting his long length inside his shorts. There's no goodbye kisses, no proclamations of affection, not that I really expect any, but it'd still be nice.
"That's all you've got to say?" I fume, feeling a bit cheap and used. "Thank God for iPhone fails?"
Edward stops, turns, and cocks his head to the side.
"Of course not," he laughs, shooting me his signature teasing grin. "We'll continue this...conversation later. I'll see you at home...Sis."
My mouth drops open in shock and Cooch...she sighs, blowing kisses, throwing roses, and practically swooning as Edward saunters away into the night.
To be continued...
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