Yeah, not even gonna bother...

Chapter Four: YET

Edward

How can one man be responsible for such beauty? Such pure joy? Such unabashed happiness?

How can I? For all of the stunning and breathtaking things I see on my wife's face? Simply because I made her?

I have a feeling I'll ask these questions a hundred times. A thousand. An endless number of in the lifetime I promised her. And, though I may never know how to answer them, I know that I will keep giving her reasons to make me ask.

"What are you thinking about? Right now while you're looking at me like that?"

"How I always want to see you look like that. And know that I'm the reason you look it."

"You will."

"I'll certainly try to."

"Whatever makes you happy," she concedes, smiling sweetly.

"You make me happy."

"I'm going to make you say that everyday."

"I believe you," I tell her, because I know her. And, because I do, couldn't possibly not know that what she said is true.

I will say it everyday. And be it. Feel it...

In little ways or in big, like on this one. The day she gave me the gift of her, and with that gift, an eternity of bliss.

A cyclical Heaven instead of the Hell I thought I'd been sentenced to. Here on this earth, anyway...

Accepting her gift has surely locked me out of it when I leave it.

But what's done is done. And I'm not and will never be sorry for it. For doing what I have already and everything I'm yet to but will.

Yet...

Yet is here. And now. The beautiful proof of it is standing right in front of me. Like an angel in her flowing white dress...

She doesn't need wings to be one. She is. And more beautiful today than I've ever seen her. Not just because of how beautiful she looks in her dress...

But because of how happy she looks while she does. And because she does. And was given the chance to, which I know she thinks was a gift from me.

A belief of hers that I'm too proud that is to tell her it isn't.

And because I don't want to taint this day for her–or myself–by giving her a reason to slap me. Which she'd probably do if I did...

Instead of the much better than that thing she does now...

With her hands that reach up and untie the bow around my neck, that I don't think she's as fond of as the big one that topped our cake, that she did not, by the way, smash in my face, despite Emmett literally getting down on his knees and begging her to. Or the much smaller one that was tied around the deep purple calla lily bouquet she held in her hand as she made her adorably fast way down the aisle–delicately littered with petals of the same–to me. Or the ones that adorn the chairs we sat in as we ate our first dinner together as husband and wife after she'd reached her destination.

"Shouldn't we go somewhere first?" I ask her playfully as she lets the ends of the untied bow fall and moves her purposeful fingers to the top button of my shirt. "Home, perhaps?"

"It's choking," she tells me, after giving me a I can't wait to do that with you smile.

That turns into a more devious one–though shyly devious, and accompanied by a luscious tinge of pink–as I smirk at her after murmuring a low "You have no idea, sweetheart... "

"Every part of you will be released from its choking misery, Mr. Masen, I promise... "

Fuck...

"... but for now, since we are not at home yet... I can only tend to my beautiful–well, your, technically, I suppose–choking neck." Which she now tends to by planting a MY poor baby kiss on...

And then another.

And another.

And yet another still, though with another something, too.

A something she couldn't help but to give me.

A gentle slip of her sweet tongue through her open-now lips.

That gives me a glimpse into her when we get home vow...

Which...

FUCK...

And which tells me, no matter what she thinks I am now, that I'm still despicable for thinking that at this moment.

And which I will punish myself for by not asking her to do what I was just imagining her doing. To another part of me.

Well...

Won't ask her to do tonight, anyway.

Or tomorrow.

Or...

Well, for as many tomorrows after that I can find the strength to still not.

Before I can't anymore and beg her on my hands and knees to.

Something I won't be above doing or ashamed that I'm not... though I really don't believe I'll have to beg her...

And do believe that making a polite request or suggestion is all I will have to do. Because, while I don't believe she would deprive me of anything within the realm of reasonable, I don't know what her sweet, untainted–as much as it could be with Emmett and Rose around for most of her life–mind will think or know to do on its own, and without my trusted and honored-to-be guidance.

Which tells me to lead us away from where my mind is. NOW.

And take her to a sweeter place. And a softer. A softer of her choosing, which is to the ours of one of the many deep purple velvet couches that are the comfortable seating she wanted and had placed in the middle of this forest for our last moments not alone.

"So... " I start, once we're settled into that softness, "since I'm no expert at weddings, or the receptions that follow them, what obligations are we yet to meet at this that is so lucky-for-me ours?"

"None," she tells me with a gleam in her sparkling more than the glasses of champagne we were just handed by Alice eyes. "They've all been met."

"Isn't there some bouquet-tossing tradition?" I ask her, positive that she hasn't thrown hers yet.

"Not for me, there's not. I would never give mine up, and having a throw-away one made just to do so is stupid."

"So, you won't mind when I do away with a tradition too?" One that will happen over my dead body. Or anyone else's if they so much as bring it up.

"You can do away with anything you want. You already gave me every one that was important."

"I'm glad you think so, sweetheart, because no one is getting so much as a peek at–let alone the honor of touching–anything that you may be wearing under that beautiful dress but me."

"I suspected you'd feel that way about it... the exact way that I do... which is why I didn't even bother putting a garter on under my beautiful dress. Or buying one at all, actually."

That's my girl...

"Have I told you yet how perfect of a wedding planner you are?"

"Not out loud. But you didn't need to for me to know you thought it, even before I gave you the last reason to just now."

I'm glad I didn't...

Glad that she knows. That, even without the out loud words, I told her. And that she heard me or saw me do so. Or felt, like I want her to do now...

As I tell her with a kiss. On this couch that I wish was the one somewhere else. Or the other. So I didn't have to stop kissing her. Or hold back the way I want to.

Soon, Edward...

"You know, we really have done everything. And shared all that we need to."

Soon that I'm not the only one of us dying for.

"Are you saying you're ready to go?" I ask her, needing to be sure that I hear her correctly.

"Yes," she says, telling me I do. And that we've been more than generous with our time on our day. And with our us.

Which...

Well, wasn't easy at certain moments. Like when I stood by and watched Riley Biers dance with her. Watched closely...

But watched, nonetheless. Because I didn't say no when he asked. Because she didn't seem to mind his asking if she would. And, because I knew that if it wasn't for him, we might not have been here dancing at all. Together or with anyone else. Which was even less easy...

And which I knew he knew as he smiled at me as he led her to the wood-covered forest floor after our yeses. Mine of which she gave me the respect of saying before she said hers. And mine that made him smile first. A smile that was pure and understanding and nothing else. A You'll always be welcome smile. And lucky, which his smile didn't have to tell me. That, I knew. At that moment and every one before it since the one he gave me. That moment, that until the ones of this day, was the greatest of my life.

Which is why I gave him his with her. Or his few, I suppose, since the song lasted a.

All of which he took like a gentleman, before he brought and gave her back to me the same.

Back to me to keep. Forever. With his heartfelt best wishes for ours.

That my beautiful bride wants to get on with.

"Well then, once again, Trouble, your chariot awaits."

She giggles as she hurriedly sets her untouched glass of champagne down, and then mine, and takes my hand and lets me pull her to her feet. Maybe for the same reason that my eyes are so wide. "Isabella... never has it been this easy to get you off of a couch."

"Well, Edward, that's because never before have you wanted to get me off of one to take me to a bed instead."

"That's not true at all," I confess guiltily, after the shock of her delicious explanation has worn off.

"Okay... I suppose you're right... so, how about this? Never before have you not only wanted to, but have earned the right to, take me from a couch to a bed."

"That's much closer to truth," I concede, because I'm too happy to argue her truth-to-her logic.

"And?" she asks, wanting more from me.

"And I love you. For both your first explanation and your second. And for a million other reasons."

"You're going to love me for more when you stop stalling and take me to our bed."

Jesus...

"Once again, sweetheart... you have no idea... "


Isabella

As perfect as this day was, and as everything turned out, I couldn't wait to put it behind us. Or the part of it we had to share, anyway.

But wait I had to do, as did Edward, who I had no doubt couldn't, either. Because the goodbyes we had to say to those we were leaving behind at our perfect celebration took forever.

Mostly because of Jasper. And not just for the sweet reasons that were sweetly hard...

But because, for him, the longer that Edward wasn't hard, the better.

Seriously, that's why. My brother tried everything in the book. Every stall tactic and delay and excuse ever written. And when he'd exhausted them all, and–we hoped–himself, he got his second wind and wrote a new book. After which he did, and tried to 'read' to us, Sam held him down on one of the couches–at least he was comfortable–so that Alice and Emily could take turns beating him over the head with it. Or, more literally, with their bouquets...

And so, after a Bless your hearts (and hands) kiss to each of their cheeks, and a blown one, and an I love you to my ridiculous, flower-petal-covered big brother, we made our escape. Straight to Edward's Suburban. And to it because, even though he did offer me a real fairy tale style chariot, I told him that nothing could make my day more perfect than everything he already was and possessed. Something I meant with all of my heart.

Like I did the threats to all of our friends not to touch it with any stupid and tacky 'Just married' decorations or adornments. Threats that they apparently took seriously because it was indeed left in its original and perfectly unadorned condition. That Edward now guides along our long, winding through our forest driveway. To our house, that I've never seen until this moment, when it appears in beautiful and breathtaking more-perfect-than-I-ever-could-have-dreamed splendor in front of us.

"Edward... " I say, and only. Because I couldn't possibly form another word. One or a hundred that would or could describe what I see. And feel for why I do. And how...

Because it's what he created. From his thoughts and his visions and his marvelously talented fingers that brought them to life so that others could erect them. All for us, but that I know, as I stare in wonder and awe is, more than anything, for me.

Everything I ever dreamed but could never have imagined. A mixture of fairy tale fantasies and modern day dreams come true. A perfect storybook cottage... though on a much grander scale. A giant's scale.

And a castle... fit for a modern day King and his beloved and treasured young Queen. Built just for her, with that affection visible in every detail from the ground up to the top of the highest tower. Yes, tower. There's really a tower!

That I do want to be locked inside of... with him. My husband. The man who gave it to me. This... that I find words for suddenly. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen... next to you."

"And you can barely even see it. Wow. I'm humbled, sweetheart. Not to mention what I am about the other part."

I know he means because it's dark, the first part of what he said, but he's wrong because it's not at all. It's lit up like Disneyland at night. I can see everything. Every brick and every stone and every ounce of love that went into where they should each be placed. Whether to tuck me safely within them or lead my path to that safety by paving it beneath my feet. My feet that touch down on that path only briefly before I'm lifted off of them and into Edward's strong arms. Strong and sure...

Like "What you are about the other thing is fully and confidently aware," I say, making him smile. Which really just means smirk, being that he's my Edward. "Just like you are about how much I love you, and had to be about how much I would love this."

"That first part might be true, and the second... well, it definitely is, but the third... this... I was confidently hopeful, sweetheart, but not cockily so. I was too afraid of disappointing you by forgetting or not thinking of something important to be that."

"Impossible," I tell him. "You know me too well, and love me too much to do that. So, be cocky... because I know you didn't forget, or not think of, or miss a single thing. And probably remembered even more that I would never think of or even know I could want, let alone have.

"BE. COCKY, Edward. Because you made every dream I ever had come true today, and you still haven't stopped making them. Just like I know you still won't after we're inside these beautiful doors."

My god, how beautiful they are... two, heavy iron masterpieces of intricacy, in a deep shade of almost-black purple, stunning against the multitude of muted grays that surround it, and tucked in behind a familiar ribbon-tied bow that I think is wrapped around the entirety of this magical gift to me. "Can I untie it?" I ask him softly, and smile because I know his mind is still whirling, like he whirled and twirled me across our forest dance floor just an hour ago, with the last words I spoke.

"Of course you can, Isabella, it's yours," is his answer, though not the only one I hear. And feel... because his heart beats fast against me. So fast...

Like I pull at the ends of the bow before his arms fall off with me still clutched and cradled proudly and possessively within them. "That was a perfect bow, Edward. Did you tie it?" I ask him with a raised brow and another smile, because the silky material is the same that I, with his adorable help, tied around all of the chairs we sat in today.

"I did," he admits, pride on his face. "And of course it was perfect, I had a perfection-demanding-bow-tying teacher who would have been disappointed in me if it wasn't. And disappointing her... with my learned bow-tying skills, at least... well, that just wasn't an option."

"She's not disappointed in you for that or anything, I assure you. And knows she won't be... ever... unless these beautiful doors don't actually open."

He laughs now, because I'm being impatient, I think, and because I'm still trying to gather the once upon a time bow with only one desperately pulling and piling hand because I refuse to take the other from where it's clasped around his delectable neck.

"How about you drop that, beautiful? I know that you want to keep it, or you wouldn't be trying so furiously to gather it, but it would probably take all night to, and I was kind of hoping that we'd spend it another way. And that you'd be patient enough for me to come out and get it in the morning."

"Drop what?" I tease, letting it fall to its stone bed for the night, because there's another softer one waiting for me. That my husband wants to spend this night doing things in. As we...

"Good girl," he beams, and then makes a downward gesture with his perfectly messy bronze topped head, which he did not try to make not for this, our second wedding day. Because he knows how much I love it just the way it is, and will forever want it to be. He's going to be so adorable when it turns gray... and is still sticking up all over– "Isabella?"

"Yes?"

"The keys, sweetheart."

"What keys?"

"The keys to our doors? That are in my pocket under the handkerchief? That I told you were just seconds ago when you weren't listening? To me, anyway?"

"Sorry," I say, and giggle as I eagerly reach into said pocket. "I was just thinking to myself how handsome you are. And were today. And still will be in thirty years, when your hair is gray and... nevermind." Note to self: Don't remind Mr. Perfect that he'll ever get old. Or older than he is now. When he's waiting to make a very 'young' me something else. "Got 'em!" The 'em that are tied together with another–though much smaller–bow of deep purple silk. God, I love him...

Him, who opens his hand for them–something I only know he does because the curve of it leaves me–but it's buried beneath the seemingly endless flowy, fluffy fabric of my dress and I can't see it. So I, more eagerly even than the other thing just before, gather it frantically into my hand to free his from it and drop them into it. After having received, he turns the old fashioned iron keys in their respective locks and kicks open the doors. "Welcome to our forever, Mrs. Masen."


Edward

I couldn't have hoped for a better reaction when we reached the end of our winding drive and Isabella saw the home I'd envisioned for her for the first time. Her face was worth all of the words she was unable to say. She loved it, and me more for giving it to her. She even loved the bow I tied around it simply because I did. The bow that now sits in an untied and dropped and forgotten-for-me heap just outside of our front doors. Our front doors that I just carried her through and then kicked shut before setting her on her pretty diamond, pearl, and bow adorned feet. That have to be killing her...

So I crouch down in front of her–and them–and reach just under dress with the intent to help her out of them...

Of course, she doesn't understand that that's my intent at first, and raises a brow at me. Not an angry one, and maybe not even a completely shocked, but a curious, perhaps.

And if this were any other day, or night of, or any other moment, I'd probably toy with her a bit, but it's not, and I just can't bring myself to. "I was just thinking that your feet must hurt. And we're home now, where nothing can hurt them further if you take these pretty shoes off... "

"So, the first time your hands go up my dress is to help me out of my shoes?"

"It would appear so, beautiful." Oh, how I've changed...

"Such the gentleman you've become, Mr. Masen... "

"I hope that's a good thing, Isabella, because gentleman, or anything else I may be or have become... you're stuck with me now."

"That is a good thing. The best thing ever, to be exact. No matter, just like you said, what you are. Which, at this moment, is right. My feet do hurt. They're killing me, actually."

She grips my shoulder for balance as I pull one shoe and then the other from her feet, resisting the temptation to reach back under her dress after I have. If ever she deserved or needed sweetness from me, instead of something else, I think it's now. And frankly, I don't want to ruin the moment her now-bare feet are having with the cool tile beneath them. So, I stand up and kiss her cheek instead, eliciting a sweet moan from her.

"I'm kind of hating Alice right now," she says out of nowhere.

Maybe the moan was for the tile? And not me at all? And maybe I'm being too much of a gentleman... "Alice?"

"Yeah, Alice. Because now that those gorgeous things are off, I don't want to put them back on."

"Well, we're home, sweetheart, and staying, as far as I know. You don't have to put them back on."

"She told me I should."

"For?" I ask her with curious raised brows of my own this time.

"You. With the other thing I'm going to put on for you."

"Didn't we talk about this already? How you should only be talking to me about those things?"

"Well, I didn't ask Jasper about the shoes." We both laugh, because of what she did seek his advice about. And because the image of what he must have looked like at that moment will forever make me. "And I didn't ask her, she suggested it on her own."

"I don't want you to put the shoes back on, Isabella."

"Whatever you say," she says, with more conviction than she ever has before, and with a more pure and purely devious smile on her face when she does.

And I don't feel so sweet, suddenly. "Are you sure you want to say that to me today? Or tonight, more specifically? And here... where nothing and no one can stop me from truly hearing you say it?"

"Completely sure."

God help you, Isabella... eventually.

I smile at her, so she knows that I did, in fact, hear her loud and clear, and am happy about what I heard, before I say anything. And not about the 'anything'she said. Because, though she's been glancing all around us since I carried her through the doors, she really hasn't seen a single thing inside of this house that is ours. "So, would you like me to give you a tour? Or just follow behind you as you discover everything on your own?"

"Is show me our house really what you want to do right now, Edward? The house that is the here... where nothing and no one can stop you from hearing, or doing, anything?"

"You're making it hard for it to be. The thing I should do first."

"Should do first? Should do first says who?"

"Emily Post, probably. With your brother's full support, I'm sure."

"If my brother had his way, you'd be showing me every brick and every stone and every blade of grass surrounding or beneath them first. And waiting for the daylight of tomorrow to do it. And it taking an eternity to do, once you started, so that you could never, ever, show me anything else."

"That's definitely what he'd want."

"Yes, except I don't care what he'd want."

"Me either."

"And, while I do care about this house, so much more than I may be showing you right now, I care more–most–about you. And what you want. What you truly want. So, the tour, or expedition, or whatever it will be can wait. And right now... first... you can just show me where our bedroom is. Well... and where my things are. Where you put the bag you brought in here for me today, most specifically, that you better not have peeked in when you did."

"Isabella... while I love and adore you for saying all of that... and promise that I did not peek... there's no rush, sweetheart. I've waited this long... a few more hours won't kill me."

"Maybe the hours wouldn't, but I might."

"You?" I laugh. "Why?"

"Because how long you've waited, Edward... has NOTHING on how long I have."

"Aaaah... "

She certainly has a point. An adorable and sharp point.

That I take before she finds a way to stab me with it. And take her hand, and, after locking our front doors, and flipping off the light directly above us, start to lead her through our house. Through the only parts I have to lead her through to get to the only part she wants to see tonight.

Because I'm the luckiest son of a bitch on earth. Which I know in another way when she suddenly breaks free from me and, holding her dress up so she doesn't trip on it, runs back the way we just came. To pick up her shoes from where I dropped them in our foyer. Before running back to me with a I can't help it smile.

"You're the perfect girl, Isabella Ha– Masen."

"Nice save, Mr.. And thank you... but, if you don't mind, and I really am not worried that you do, what I really want now is to be the perfect woman."

PERFECT. Girl.

Who feels perfect in my arms as I sweep her into them again, and carry her up the stairs for the one and only time as a.

Because she doesn't want to be anymore...

And I'll never deny her anything she does want ever again. Here or anywhere.


I set her on her feet again when we reach our bedroom, because even though it's where she wanted us to be, I don't want her to feel rushed or pressured to be doing anything in it just yet.

I want her to take it all in... slowly and comfortably.

Where we are...the place she told me was important to her to be tonight.

And what we are... what she didn't have to tell me was.

And how. And how we're all because we were both patient. And determined. And strong. Stronger than any and everyone and any and everything else that tried to stop us or get in our way. Me included. Because she was stronger than I was when I did try.

Her eyes have been all over the room, and her feet have slowly followed them, so that she could get closer looks at the details and hopefully-pleasant surprises. We'll change anything she doesn't like, of course; I know I took a huge risk doing things this way... ultimately without her so that it could all be for her... and from me...

But so far I haven't seen anything on her face that tells me she anything but loves it all.

"The interior designer, while clearly the most brilliant one on earth, better not have been hot."

I laugh at her 'better not'. And at the look on her face now, that tells me I'll be wearing her handprint on mine if I don't answer carefully. And, most importantly, correctly, which ultimately just means in a way she wants to hear. She, who has her hands on her sweet little hips as she waits for that answer with an intimidating looking single quirked brow.

"Um... well... " I tease, though clearly only to my own amusement. Which I have to admit is greatened by what she's still wearing. Her sweet and beautiful dress...

And what she's still holding dangling from a single finger against her sweet hip. Her sweet and beautiful–but not only–shoes. That have deadly not-sweet heels. Which I'm sure is why her feet hurt. And which suddenly make me remember a certain scene of a certain movie in which a guy took a single stiletto to the eye. Another sharp point...

Not that she'd ever... she loves me–and my eyes–too much... but still... "Well, Isabella, since that 'designer' you speak of–or question with your delicate yet scary threat–was mostly me... you know I can't really say that. I mean, a lie or denial of truth of that magnitude... well, there's just no place for it in a marriage. Certainly not in ours."

"Agreed," she says, shaking her head at me and fighting a smile. "But, Narcissus, you said mostly."

"You're absolutely right, sweetheart, I did. And did consult with Esme on multiple occasions. Who, though is admittedly certainly an attractive woman, I would never refer to as hot."

"Mrs. Cullen helped you with our house?"

"With some details, yes. She's known you since you were a little girl–and adored, I might add–and she's a woman, of course, so I asked her if she would. Just in a few areas that I thought needed a delicate that I don't possess touch. Which she gave gladly."

"I bet she's wishing now that she hadn't."

"I doubt that, sweetheart. She knows her daughter. And you well enough that she'd never begrudge you a perfect day today, even if that meant it could only be without her, which, though I don't yet know what happened, I assume was the only choice you felt you could make."

"It was."

She looks down at the shoes in her no longer on her hip hand and shakes her head. "I definitely don't want to put these back on." And then looks back up at me. "Where's our closet?"

"Yours is just through those doors," I tell her, gesturing to the double ones behind me.

"Mine?" she asks, surprised, and, I think, excited, too.

"Yes, yours. And one of the things I wanted that woman's touch on. Or in... "

"I'm just going to go put my shoes away," she says, as if having the excuse of her 'all things in their perfect place' compulsion is needed at this moment to simply be a girl.

"Have fun," I tell her as she kisses my cheek and rushes excitedly past me. While I pray that she loves me enough to come back out once she goes in.

Goes in and squeals.

Damn you, Esme...

And myself, of course. For wanting to give her everything she could ever want.

That may make her forget that she wants me.


I was willing to give my wants-to-be-a-woman bride her little girl moments...

As many as she wanted...

But the ones she did were few. The ones she took, at least. Because she meant what she said...

She didn't want to be a girl–a little or an all grown up–anymore.

Something she told me again as she walked back out of my special gift to her with her bag in her hand. The bag she'd given me to bring here for her–and told me not to peek inside of–earlier today, so that it would be already.

That was about thirty minutes ago, maybe forty. Right before she took it into our bathroom, which is really two, or divided into, at least, and which she hasn't come back out of yet.

I don't know what she's doing... if it's things she wants to, or things she thinks she needs to, or if she's doing nothing at all, while trying to talk herself out of being nervous about what we'll do...

I wish I knew. So that I would know if there was something I could do. Or should. Or should say.

I want to go to the door. Talk to her through it...

But I don't want her to think I'm pushing her. Or rushing. Because I'd never do either. If I have to wait another hour, or another ten, for her to come out, I will. And will do it gladly, just as long as she comes out happy.

As happy as I am. Which, if she wasn't her, I wouldn't be. And which probably wouldn't be possible. But she is... her... and...

Happily and beautifully so right in front of me now. And taking another walk towards, though a slower one this time. Another angelic vision in white...

Sweet, sweet white... with sweet, sweet bows... that I'll get to untie...

"I'm sorry if I took too long. And made you wait... "

"Don't be," I tell her. "Because what I see now... is worth a lifetime of waiting for."

"So, you know how I feel."

"I think I do."

"I think you're going to. Know. How I feel... finally... and... well, that... is definitely worth the lifetime I did wait for."

"I hope it will be, Isabella. For you."

"Have you met you?"

"Yes."

"And seen?"

I smile as she looks me over. Sees that all traces of my tux are gone. That I've changed, too. Readied myself for her. In every way that I could, in the time that she was doing the same for me.

Me, who can't stand it anymore. Standing still and waiting. For her to get to where I am. So that I can touch her. And "Every time I think I've seen the most beautiful sight I ever could... you turn around and show me that I haven't. And then that I have again. Surely, this time."

"Actually," she says, her lip quivering as my fingers trail down her cheek, and then her neck, and over her collarbone to trail even more slowly along the line of her shoulder, that is adorned with only a thin white strap of silk, "I do have something to turn around and show you. That I think you'll like... If that's okay?"

Has she met me?

"Of course it's okay. Because there's nothing I don't want you to show me. Absolutely nothing, Isabella."

She smiles at that... and turns a little pink... and bites her pretty pink lip... and then turns around. So that I can see the something. That she lifts her sweet babydoll something just a little to reveal...

Jesus...

My sweet, plump, juicy little rabbit... complete with a sweet and fluffy white tail...

That she watches me look at over her shoulder. Watches me grasp the meaning of, that I couldn't not have. And grasp it. Literally... though gently... that I couldn't not have done, either... because I'm me...

Which she really, truly does love completely...

And to torment...

"You're a brave little rabbit, Isabella... "

"I am. And all yours. And not in the least bit afraid of snakes," she says, continuing to torment.

"A brave little lying rabbit... "

"No I'm not."

"No? Would you like me to take you to tell Aro that? And give him the I'll miss you kiss goodbye that you forgot to?"

"There's only one snake that will ever get a kiss from me, Edward. And it's here, where I'll never have to miss it. And certainly won't be telling it goodbye, since I haven't even said hello to it yet. With a kiss or–"

"Please don't trust me enough to finish that."

"And why shouldn't I?" she asks me, turning around and telling me with beautiful, brave eyes that she does.

"Because I love you. And want to show you that in as sweet a way as I can. Instead of in a way that you finishing that will-kill-me declaration might provoke me to. Or want you to show me."

"I want you to show me everything. And not hold back telling me what you want to see."

The sound that just came out of me was one of purely and effectually tormented. And not a manly one. Not at all...

And makes her giggle. Sweetly. And then kiss me not.

Because she doesn't have to anymore. Definitely not here...

In our bedroom where she's telling me with her not-sweet kiss that there don't have to be rules. Now that yet has arrived, and after I followed all of hers so that it could.

Before she stops telling me anything with her sweet and not mouth and looks up at me with sweet, trusting eyes...

That tell me–plead with me–to take over. This moment and this night of ones yet to come.

And take over her. In whatever way I want. And in every way she wants to know exists.

So that's what I do. Trust myself to do as I pull her towards our bed. Before I sit down on it and pull her to stand in front of me. And issue my first instruction. "Turn around."

Which she accepts, and follows without hesitation. Or fear.

But does follow with curiosity, because she peers over her shoulder to watch me remove her sweet, plump, juicy little rabbit tail. With an anything but sweet from my mouth "I love this, and want you to wear it again someday," before my hand tosses it across the room to bounce off of and then land softly back onto a love seat.

"Okay," she says, and beams at me.

But I'm not sure what she does after, because my eyes fall back to where it isn't anymore. Her fluffy rabbit tail... to her sweet white panties that never met a sweetness-tattering shredder. And that are topped with a sweet white bow.

"I think I figured out what it is that you don't like," she tells me now as my fingers trace the edges of the silky fabric that covers her so perfectly. "What all of those things I showed you before had in common."

"You didn't need to," I tell her. "I wasn't worried... because those things aren't at all you."

"I'm glad that you weren't. Even though I might have screwed up by not asking you to look at them first."

"But you did ask me."

"That's because I wanted you to be happy."

"And that's because you're sweet."

"And you like sweet."

"No... I love sweet."

"Because I am?"

"Yes. And because you're perfect. My perfect girl," I say, and spin her back around, "who I know is waiting very sweetly and patiently, while looking perfect, to be my perfect something else."

She nods her beautiful head at me but does nothing more. And continues to stand patiently in front of me where I put her. And where my hands now start to feel her. And move over her. Up her more delectable than I ever imagined thighs... and above them... and behind... slowly and appreciatively over her perfect and perfectly covered ass... before fingering the sweet little bow just above it... and then her skin just above that... the delicate skin of her back... that I can't see but remember seeing once before...

On a different night...

On the night that I gave in to all that was her. And stood entranced by as she danced...

For me...

And then told me to listen...

To the words pulsing around us...

Like she did again tonight...

On a different dance floor...

The one in the middle of a lantern-lit forest...

Where she sang along with those words this time...

Telling me that 'she wants to own me. To control me.' And to 'Come closer... Come closer...'

Close enough to get to this. This here. And this right there...

That is right in front of her. And right in front of me. And right between us.

A lantern-lit path of another sort. The sweet path of sweet little white bows that I begin to untie, so that nothing will be in the way anymore. Nothing but us. Nothing but the feel of each other. Like, first, my lips against her skin, that, with each pull of a tiny ribbon to expose, I leave a kiss to cover.

And, for now, other than those patient kisses that she feels, the sight of each other. The first... gift of the sight of her... all of... that inch by inch, untied bow by untied bow, I am granted and bestowed the honor of. While she watches me... with no hint of wanting to stop. Because she doesn't want me to stop giving her that something to watch.

But it's not all I want to give her. Because what she's giving me is... "You're so beautiful... "

"So are you," she whispers through quivering lips, before she's seen a single thing but that I think she is. And how much I'm awed by the sight of her. That I can't for a moment take my eyes off of, once the bows have all been untied and I've all but bared her before me, and let the sweet, silky wrapping fall to the floor behind her. Beneath the pretty white, bow-topped wrapping that she still wears, for now...

And that I glance down past for a second. "Do you want me to pick that back up? Or can I forget about it... and everything else but you?"

She smiles, knowing what I'm referring to, and why I am, and gives me my answer. With a question "Forget about what?" After which she asks, she takes a small step back... giving me an extraordinary view of what's mine and about to be in every way... and crushing that forgotten thing beneath her feet, so that I have room to stand up and pick up what I never will or could ever forget. Her...

And then lay her gently on the bed. "So, so, so beautiful... " Before climbing onto it with her. And above. While her heart beats furiously beneath my eyes, and my fingers that sweep the always-silk-and-sweetly-strawberry-scented hair from her face. "I love you, Isabella."

"I love you too."

God, do I know that...

That her words are true. Solid and unyielding. And untainted by my faults, that she climbed over to get to me. Crushed beneath her pretty feet on her way, so that they wouldn't be in ours.

Like she thinks something else is, perhaps, as she starts tossing pillows to the floor. Pillows that are many, because I topped our bed with. And pillows that I help toss out of the way because I did. Until there are only the ones that we're meant to lay our heads down on left. That her eyes tell me she wants to do now, in that way that we will. That makes me slip the bedding from under her so that she can feel our sheets beneath her instead.

But still she doesn't seem completely content. And eyes my t-shirt. "Can I ask for something?"

"Here, always," I tell her. In a way that I think she understands, even if she doesn't, or have any real idea of, all of the things she could ask for.

"Well, there's one lesson out of the way," she says with a smile, "Now we just have your shirt."

Aaaah...

But... "If you think we only have my shirt, sweetheart... " I tease, "then you're in for a big surprise."

"I am fully aware of your big surprise, Edward... " she teases back, "because, wrapped it may have stayed, but unnoticed it NEVER did."

"It couldn't," I admit. "Any more than I could not notice–and surrender to–YOU."

"I want you to surrender your shirt to me."

"I want you to take it."

Her deep brown eyes go darker right before my own differently shaded, and it sends a surge of want through me that threatens my do-this-right will. "You liked hearing that," I declare confidently, like she has so many times to me.

"I did," she admits, her dark gaze dropping downward, and her fingers grazing my skin as she grips the bottom edge of my shirt. "And you liked saying it," she adds, just as confidently.

Because, as she pointed out just a minute ago, what I am never goes unnoticed by her.

I don't respond, though it's hard not to (no pun intended), with anything but a I can't help it with you smile, that, though changes into a proud one, doesn't leave my face as she slowly and delicately rids me–and herself–of my shirt.

"Anything else you want?" I ask her, teasing again.

And her response nearly kills me. "Yes, I want everything."

Because it's given innocently. And purely. And with so much trust...

That puts me back on the right path. A for-her sweeter...

That I take my first step down with a kiss to her sweet mouth. Gentle and tender at first... while I let just a little of my weight settle onto her. Because I know she likes that... loved it the times that I got greedy or careless and did. Teased us both with what was to come, but always, before now, not yet.

Before now that isn't...

And that she tells me she's glad for, as she pulls me closer. Down on her heavier and harder... crushes herself beneath all that is me. All that I'll let her...

Because, as much as I want to give it to her, my all... I want to give her the last shreds of patience that I have left first.

With sweet kisses to her face...

Her forehead, and her nose, and her eyelids...

Her cheeks, and her chin, and then, again, her not-afraid-to-tell-me-what-she-wants mouth. "Kiss something new, Edward. Please."

Oh, I will, my beautiful bride...

But don't do it right away. And move my lips slowly over the places I'm painfully familiar with.

Her jaw, and her neck, and her collarbones... the furthest my lips have ever been, though barely and rarely...

Before, for the first time, kissing lower. The something new she wanted... the first of everything waiting to be discovered... and adored...

Her perfect nipples harden before I even reach them. In anticipation and pure happiness that I'm getting close...

With nothing in the way this time like the first, and the many after... when I swept a teasing kiss across them while they stayed hidden and protected by layers of wrapping...

That I never even tried to remove after that first time. Or let her, on the few occasions that she wanted to. And said she could and would for me... and for herself, I know. Because that first time told her something she didn't know...

And told me. That her beautiful, firm, and perfectly perky breasts are sensitive.

"Ooooh!"

Like she just did...

As my kisses finally reached the first of them. And my determined-to-be-gentle hand, the second. And her hands reached my hair, abandoning the sweet caresses up and down my bare back.

I don't know what's better... the way her fingers feel in my hair and on my scalp...

Or the way her pleasure-filled whimpers sound to my ears...

Or the way she...

What am I saying? I do know. It's the way she tastes. Her skin, yes, but not only. Because I can taste so much more...

Her trust. Her love. Her want. And her building need...

All in this gift she's given me. This gift of herself, that she's never given to any other. And never wanted to. It's always only been me, and for. Who truly does want to give her everything I can. All of the love, all of the respect for her and for hers, all of the pure joy and happiness...

And, as I hear her whimpers get louder with each swirl of my tongue around each of her nipples, because I'm back and forth between them like a ping pong ball, unable to choose a favorite...

Or each gentle–mostly–suck of them into my growing-greedier-by-the-second-mouth...

All of the pleasure.

Pleasure I've never wanted to, let alone ached to, give to anyone else.

But she's not anyone else...

She's the girl I love and have loved forever. Long before I loved her this way... and wanted to in every other way that there is.

She's Isabella. Isabella, my wife. And will be treated in every special way that I can possibly think to do or show her. And she will be now. A first for me before I let her give me the ultimate of hers.

A first she doesn't think she wants... or know yet that she can or should... or will love, I pray...

Because she loves what I was just doing and doesn't love that I stopped doing it. That my lips and tongue left her breasts to go elsewhere. "Go back, Edward, please... Go back and never leave again... "

"I will, I promise," I tell her, in a soft whisper against her stomach. That covers it with adorable little pleasure-shaped bumps. And that stops her protests and pleas...

And turns them to whimpers again. Sweet Isabella whimpers... that sound like a song... the most beautiful one I've ever heard... because only I have. And only I ever will.

Will and will want to forever, now that I have. Have had the privilege. And the honor. To be worthy of her and of this. This all of her...

That I will know before this night is over. Because she'll let me.

With beautiful, innocent, and pure shock on her face. Like now, when I gently grasp the top of her sweet panties between my fingertips and pull, sliding them slowly over her hips. Her hips that offer no resistance, I might add, and maybe even a little help.

I see the question in her eyes as I look up at her, knowing she's watching me. And instead of asking it out loud, like I think she wants to do, she bites her lip. So that she can't. And can't be, like she may be afraid of, disappointed by the answer I might give. Because she's heard many times answers from someone else, and me with most of those, lumped in with their stupid, proud selfishness.

So I give her a different one. And the only one that I would ever let her hear. "Don't you know yet that you're special to me?"

And, once again, she doesn't answer me or say anything out loud, but she moves her feet, just a little, and her now-trembling legs above them, just a little farther apart than they were, and then holds her breath.

So adorably that I think I literally melt. Before I regain my focus–solid as can be–to make her melt, before I make her anything else. "Don't hold your breath, sweetheart, because I want to hear you when I taste your saved-for-me sweetness."

Her mouth falls open at my words...

And maybe a little, too, because mine falls to her right after they've left it.

And instantly falls in love...

My god...

She does taste like heaven.

And sound...

The way it must.

And the way she will always want to, I think. Because the way she sounded before... when my mouth was somewhere else... is a long and happily forgotten by her sound.

And feeling. Because she has a new favorite. And isn't too shy to tell me that she does. Between gasps and moans and sweet, angelic whimpers, of course. "Forget... what I said... before...

"I didn't mean it... didn't know any better than to think I did... "

And I laugh...

Deep and proud and against her...

"Oh, God, I didn't know!"

Before she's unable to utter anything coherent at all, let alone remember what she wanted to. But what she doesn't have to because I know what it was. I, with my mouth and my lips and my happy-to-stay-right-where-it-is-for-that-forever-s he-wants-now tongue. That seems to have a mind of its own. A mind that knows what to do even though I didn't think I had a clue...

Any more than I wanted to do this thing for her. And for myself. Before I did another. That another that she expected. And was ready for. And not too shy to tell me that she was.

Me, her finally-a-real-man husband. Only for her. Who surrenders herself to me completely. And completely mind-numbingly sweetly. In a way I feared would be next to impossible on this night of firsts.

Before I put her.


Isabella

Oh. My. God.

No...

Oh. My. Edward.

Which is the same thing, really...

The...

Well, I don't know...

Like I can think right now?

About anything?

But that I want him to do that thing again...

That...

That thing that can't possibly have a name...

Because none would do it justice...

Hmmm...

That's not true, actually...

One would. Masen.

The name he gave me. Before he gave me that...

That...

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

Masen! Masen! Masen! Masen! Masen!

That's what I'm calling it.

From now on.

Because I think I'll have other chances to after now.

Because I don't think I was the only one of us who liked it.

He liked it, too.

A lot, I think.

It sounded like he did, anyway. I wasn't the only one making I've discovered heaven on earth noises.

He was too.

And didn't stop discovering it once he had.

Didn't stop until I had discovered a better one.

That I shared with him.

And more than just with his ears. So much more than with them...

That I hope he can still hear out of and with.

Hear me... "I love you so much... You're the best husband ever. In the history of husbands, you are... the... best... "

With the best tongue. The best mouth. The best lips...

That make their way back up from where they came...

Torturously slowly...

Up my still-fluttering stomach...

My still-fluttering everything...

To my... "Ooooh... "

I never want to wear a bra again. Or a shirt. Or anything...

But his mouth.

Seriously...

I NEVER do.

Want to wear anything. Ever again. But him.

My perfect, beautiful, loving husband.

Who I should probably thank for being. Thank until I lose my voice. That was given new life today. New sounds.

A whole freaking soundtrack of its own... literally, of...

And his sweet accompaniment.

That he doesn't stop because I asked him not to. Sort of...

When I told him to go back to that place where he is and never leave...

Before he promised he would...

And before he kept that promise...

And did...

And...

And I'm being selfish. And have to stop. Want to stop. "Edward?"

"Hmmm?" He looks up at me but doesn't stop keeping his promise. Because you don't need your mouth to look at a person...

And I love him for it, but... "Come up here."

I pull on him so he knows that I mean it. That I want him to leave where he is...

And when I've pulled him up far enough–because he's let me, because it's what I wanted–I kiss him. And myself, I realize. My newly awakened by my new husband self.

My new husband who looks surprised, when our lips part and our eyes meet again.

What did I do? "Am I not supposed to do that? After what you did to me?"

"There are no 'supposed to's, sweetheart. I was just surprised that you did, that's all."

"So was I... at the thing that you did."

"A good kind of surprised, I hope?" He asks his question as if he's unsure... but I know he's not. AT. ALL.

And just wants his ego stroked, I think. And probably his... "The best kind. Better than I ever could have imagined."

I see his head swelling right before my eyes... and feel something else... "You liked hearing that," I say, like I have so many times to him, and like he did to me a little while ago for the first time. Before he did something to me for the same. And not the first for just me.

"I did," he says, with a smile on his lips and a want in his eyes.

A want for more... from me... "Do you want to be a good kind of surprised now?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure when I said I do today that I ensured a lifetime of that for myself... but what do you mean, beautiful?"

I promise you did, Edward... "I mean isn't it my turn? To do something to you?"


Edward

Was her question tempting?

Of course it was.

But it was also sweet. And innocent. And reminded me, not that I needed anything to, how much she's both of those things.

And how much she trusts me with them. Those things about her that I love, even though I want to take them away... sort of...

So "No, sweetheart."

"No? But–"

"Well, more not yet. Not that it's about taking turns... or that I want you to ever think that it is or has to be... I don't. And I also don't want you to take one tonight. Or give me."

"But isn't that your favorite thing?"

The fact that she thinks that... was ever given reason to... and to ask it...

Doesn't make me happy at all. Or deserve for her to want to make me.

"You're my favorite thing, Isabella."

She smiles at me, but it isn't whole. Because she thinks she's said something wrong. Something she shouldn't have. And something to ruin this...

This night that means so much to her...

And when she bites her lip, convinced of it, I don't hesitate for a second to reach up and pull it free. "And I don't want you to do that, either."

"What do you want me to do?" she asks, not sure at all now about anything.

"I just want you to love me."

"I do."

"And let me love you."

"I'd never try to stop you from doing that."

"And let me make you my wife in every way."

"And sure as hell not that."

My god, she's precious...

And I can't wait to know truly just how much. Can't wait anymore...

And kiss her again. With her precious on my lips. And on my tongue... not letting me forget...

Or her that I know she is.

And wanted to. Know everything about her...

That I didn't know already...

And love already...

Love so much...

Like her sweetness, that I can taste on her tongue and feel in her delicate touch on my skin.

And her fearlessness that comes out when she knows she's safe. And with someone who would live or die to keep her.

Something that comes out now...

Because she knows she is. And wants to know everything else...

Like what I feel like...

More than what I felt like beneath her or with her beneath me when feel me that way was all she could do.

And all that I could let her, though more than I should have.

Then, not now.

Because now no one's telling her no or to be careful. And she doesn't have to tell herself.

And I sure as hell don't tell her either...

Because I'm only human, after all.

And because her soft touch is gentle and sweet. Just like it was before I felt it but knew I would...

When I felt her You're all mine now hands slowly push my pajama pants over my hips. And then my boxers. So that she could feel everything there was to beneath them.

Which, if I haven't mentioned it... FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

I never knew a touch could be so soft.

And so completely disintegrate my brain and any function it ever possessed.

Something that–because God help me, I can't help it–I have to see her accomplish.

See what I feel...

And don't have to just imagine anymore.

See her touch me. Wrap her hand around... and move it slowly but sweetly unsurely up and down...

"Isabella... my god, sweetheart... "

She doesn't say anything to my half-said, and her hand around me stills, so I tear my eyes from it to look up at her face...

And see that it's attention is fully on where mine just was.

Though maybe in a slightly different way. And for a slightly different reason.

Because her eyes are unslightly wide. And she's biting her lip again. In a way that makes me chuckle just a little. Because it's adorable. The it that is her worry... and her less than fearless now fearlessness, perhaps. Now that she's seen something, too.

"Don't be scared," I tell her when she looks back up at me. "You know I love you. More than anything else. And that I'd never hurt you. And I promise you, these things have a way of working themselves out, no matter how impossible that may seem. Or look."

She doesn't look like she believes me at all...

But she nods her head. And releases her lip. And says "Okay." And "I trust you."

And doesn't look down again. Because my face, and the love for her that covers it, is all she wants to see now.

My face that I inch closer to hers. Lower back down to. And my lips to hers again, with tender strokes of my fingers to her cheek. And her silky hair, that's feathered out around her. And then her shoulder. And her arm... that once they reach her hand at the end of, she whimpers to tell me they passed something up. Something higher up... that I reach back up and stroke tenderly... both...before making my way down again... over her ribs and down her stomach... over her hip and down her thigh... all her rights... before making my way back up the inside of it... until I find what I'm looking for. Her returned fearlessness. Because she trusts me. And wants me. Is so deliciously soft and wet with how much she does...

And how ready she is...

"Edward... "

For me to make her, in this special to us both way, my wife.

Something she lets go of me so that I can do. With sweet trust in her eyes and her sweeter hands now on my face.

As I slide as slowly and as sweetly as I possibly can inside of her.

Inside of a heaven I never even came close to imagining.

While the sweetest tears that have ever fallen from any pair of eyes slip slowly down her cheeks, while words every bit the same slip from her lips and onto mine. "I love you so much."

And her legs slip around my hips like an exclamation point at the end of. And then she moves them higher... adding another... and pulling me in deeper... before they tighten... with so much fearless strength... and so much selfless love... because I know I'm hurting her... no matter how hard I'm trying not to... I know that I am.

And that she knows that I won't forever... and wouldn't at all if I could not. And loves me for being willing to now... to let her hurt... for just a little while... for me...

So that I can give her everything.

Every bit of me.

That will love every bit of her... "I love you, too, sweetheart. So much... "

On this night and for the rest of my life.

xx

I have no expectations (though am dressed in a suit of armor), so let it fly. I can take it. I hope.

.