Previously in Chapter Fifteen …
"Did that taste good?" he asks, dipping the spoon back into the bowl.
I nod my head, feeling like a puppet on a string.
"Yeah, that tasted so good."
Edward chuckles, a secret smile forming on his lips. "I can think of something that tastes better."
I possibly break into a cold sweat wishing he would just say what he means.
Say what you mean.
"Yeah, what's that? What tastes better?"
I die a little inside, watching him bring the spoon dripping with melted ice cream to his lips. He takes a long lick, his tongue slipping and sliding over the sticky wetness clinging to the spoon. Eyes locked on mine, he cleans it entirely before he replies.
"What tastes better? You'll find out soon enough, Sis. You'll find out soon enough."
Shout-out to Franny and Jonesn for beta'ing and pre-reading.
Chapter Sixteen: Cooch in Paradise Two
Our 'family vacation' doesn't truly begin until we arrive at the beach house Mama and Carlisle are renting.
Ignoring Edward, who's sharing the leather-clad backseat space of the backseat of Carlisle's expensive car with me, I peer through the tinted glass and gape open-mouthed at the beach house before us.
The house is gorgeous: two-story, pale-yellow, and spacious enough to easily house three families. Lush, emerald green grass sprawls out in front of it, creating a barrier between the house and the sandy shore. Brilliant blue sparkles between the trees and my stomach flips in anticipation of a heated pool. A boardwalk begins where the grass ends, the sun-soaked wood creeping through the squant trees, ending where the sandy beach begins. I immediately realize that my mother had nothing to do with renting this house.
I glare at the back of Carlisle's shiny, blonde hair, narrowing my judgmental eyes at him. Carlisle's apparently trying to impress my mom with his never-ending cash flow. But he doesn't understand that money isn't what impresses my mom. If this guy thinks greenbacks equate to happiness, he's dead wrong as far as my mother is concerned.
"The beach house is beautiful," I say, just as he pulls in the drive. "It's so big …"
"Lots of space," Carlisle mutters, side eyeing my mom. "You kids can choose any room you want. You don't even have to sleep, er, room on the same floor."
"You trying to separate Bells and me, Dad?" Edward asks, in a tone that suggests he already knows the answer. He smirks at my wrinkled brow and rolls his eyes.
"We, uh, I just know how you teenagers can be." Mama pipes in, earning my confused stare. Frustration builds on her reddened face. She laughs nervously and cracks the window, waving a hand near her forehead, fanning her flaming cheeks. "What I mean is, we know how teenagers fuss and fight. You're friends one minute, enemies the next. All those hormones …"
Hormones … you should definitely worry about my hormones.
Carlisle parks the car and he and Mama stroll, hand-in-hand, in the drive. Carlisle whips out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. The house swallows up the giggling couple, leaving Edward and me behind in the drive.
"Your dad is trying to win my mom over with his money," I say, crossing my arms over my chest and watching Edward pop the trunk of the car. "So not gonna work."
"Yeah? Because the look on her face proves otherwise."
Edward smirks and begins pulling our luggage from from the trunk. Our hands brush together as I try to wrestle my bag from him.
"I've got it," I grumble, but he's strong, pulling the bag away from me. Stumbling on my feet, I land flush against his chest, my hands accidentally brushing against the metal beneath his shirt.
Jesus Christ, we haven't been here ten minutes, and I'm already fondling his nipples.
"You okay?" he asks, dropping the bag back inside the trunk.
His hands brush over my bare shoulders. My body reacts, shivering beneath his touch. Awkwardly, I shove against his hard, hot as hell, drool-worthy chest and grab my bag.
"I'm fine. Sorry for molesting your nipples."
"Don't apologize; maybe I liked you molesting my nipples." Edward's voice drops and he wags his eyebrows suggestively.
I'm trapped between his too-warm body and the trunk of the car. Ignoring him, I dig around inside the trunk and find my makeup case. My body becomes rigid at the weight of his hands resting on my hips. I stand up straight, my back bumping into this chest. His lips brush against my ear and my heart sputters.
"Why are you so nervous?" he asks, his nose tickling the shell of my ear.
"Nervous? I'm not nervous."
"You're so nervous. You shake every time I touch you," he whispers.
God, his voice is sex, spoken low with his hot breath on my neck. So hot that my body feels as though it's melting into a big pile of Bella goo at his feet.
"We can't keep doing this, Edward," I mutter.
Turning, I'm unable to meet his roaming eyes. But I feel them. I feel them everywhere on my skin, wandering below the hem of my shorts to my bare legs, resting on the exposed sliver of my abdomen where my tank has ridden up, and finally landing on my face, drifting between my eyes and mouth.
"Doing what?" he asks, his voice innocent but his smirk anything but.
"You know what," I whisper.
Edward purses his lips, nodding. Dropping his hands from the trunk door, he takes a step backwards. The heat between our bodies dissipates a bit but doesn't completely leave. It swirls around us, intermingling with the heat of the South, a place I've missed so very badly, almost as badly as I miss the closeness of his body hovering over mine.
"You want me to ignore you, Platt? Is that what you want?"
Edward ignoring me is the last thing that I want, but I can't imagine living with him and enduring the never-ending sexual tension, especially around our parents.
"Yeah, ignore me." Please don't ignore me.
There's a brief flash of anger that crosses over his features, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. The smirk he wore returns, twisting into an evil grin.
I suck in a breath as he leans in again, but this time his body shifts to the side of me as Edward grabs a couple of bags out of the trunk. He turns and leaves me standing alone in the drive without a second glance. An odd sense of rejection fills my chest. Breathless, with my heart in my throat and my bags at my feet, I watch him walk away.
The rooms of the beach house are filled with calming, neutral colors. Enlarged photographs of seashells and sun-soaked beaches grace the walls. The giggles of Carlisle and Mama echo down a hallway, the sound dancing from a room that I assume they're about to share. My throat tightens, the weirdness of the situation hitting me hard. I've never seen my mom so serious about a guy before, so serious that she openly shares a bed with him under the same roof as her only child. The reality of their relationship hits me sudden and hard. I clamber upstairs to the second floor, eager to escape the weirdness surrounding me.
I'm no better off on the second floor. I pass several bedroom doorways, my heart skipping with each empty room. And it's not until I notice the familiar black luggage piled at the foot of a bed that I realize what I've unknowingly been doing: searching for him.
Momentarily forgetting that I'm the one who suggested we ignore one another, I choose the room directly across from his. Closing the door behind me, I spend the next several minutes unpacking my bags and tucking my clothes away in the dresser drawers. I text Rose, who I still haven't heard from, and check Facebook.
Nothing exciting is found in my newsfeed, other than a beach party that's happening tomorrow night. My stomach twists as I read the thread that Rose, Paul, and a few others have commented on. Sadness pulses through me.
They've forgotten me.
Someone bangs on my bedroom door, the sudden sound emitting a startled shriek from my throat.
"Bella." Edward's muffled, exasperated voice calls me from behind the white-painted wood. "Suit up. Dad and Esme want us to all go swimming so we can bond."
Oh, I want to bond, all right. I want your penis to bond with my vagina.
"I'll be down in a second," I call out. My voice cracks nervously like a thirteen-year old boy.
Edward mutters something lowly, the sound sending tingles between my legs. I make sure the door is locked, then stealthy unlock it, mentally bitch slapping that whore Cooch, who's on her knees praying Edward walks into my bedroom.
The shorts and tank I wear fall into a wadded ball of cotton near my feet, and I kick the clothes aside. The bikini I pull from my drawer is two-sizes too small, but somehow I manage to keep all my goodies stuffed inside. One glance at the mirror above the white, wicker dresser tells me that I don't look half bad. My boobs and ass are nearly popping out of the confines of the blue nylon material, but still, not half bad.
I skip barefooted down the carpeted stairs, nearly bumping into Carlisle as he emerges from the darkened hallway. Laughter and shouting drifts from the open, patio doors, and I spy a flash of bronze and caramel, a smile donning my face as Edward easily tosses my mother into the kidney-shaped swimming pool.
"I was worried about bringing another woman into our lives," Carlisle says, his words snagging my attention away from the happy scene outside the door. "I've dated a couple of women over the years; nothing serious, nothing like your mother. Edward disliked the idea of me becoming serious with someone other than his mother. Then I met Esme and things are different."
"My mom's a likable person." I smile and shrug. "But I guess that's obvious, or you wouldn't be with her."
"She's more than likable, Bella." Carlisle smiles back, his eyes drifting past me and towards the pool. "She's kind, considerate, beautiful, and has a childlike energy that draws me in. In addition, she cares about you, Bella, more than anything else. The love she has for her child is what captured my attention, more than any other trait. She wants the best for you, just as I want for Edward."
As soon as his father says his name, I seek him out, my eyes scanning the pool. Suddenly, he emerges from the deep end, lifting his body from the water and onto the side of the pool easily. Droplets of water slide down his bare chest, dipping into the waistband of his trunks. He shakes the water from his hair, whipping his head around and dragging his fingers through the disorderly strands.
"You like him, don't you, Bella?"
My body involuntarily jerks at the insinuation behind Carlisle's words. I can't look at him, but I can't look at Edward. I'm sure it's my wandering eyes that have betrayed me to his father. So I stare numbly at the beach in the distance, choosing my words carefully.
"We have a love-hate relationship." I shrug, gnawing the corner of my bottom lip. "But he's not the guy everyone else sees, so yeah, I like him, I guess."
"You know that's not what I mean, Bella."
Carlisle drifts around my stiff body and strolls to the kitchen. The refrigerator makes a sticky, popping sound as he opens the door. Mayonnaise, mustard, and lunchmeats are deposited on the bar; a loaf of bread pulled from the pantry by his nimble fingers. My skin is crawling, and feeling as though I'm sitting under the heat of a lamp, interrogated by a probing investigator.
"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Carlisle."
Carlisle smiles and pulls a butter knife from a drawer. Assembling a sandwich, he only pauses long enough to ask me another question.
"Do you and my son have a sexual relationship with one another?"
My mouth drops open in shock, the feeling slowly replaced with anger and then disgust.
"How dare you. That's none of your business."
"My seventeen-year old son's lifestyle is one hundred percent of my business."
Carlisle slaps a piece of bread on the one-faced sandwich and shoves it across the bar in my direction. Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare and shake my head. He shrugs and drags the paper plate back in his direction.
"Your mother and I, we want the best for you kids." Carlisle hesitates, shaking his head before continuing. "I'm in love with your mother, and I'd like to believe she feels the same way about me. There's nothing more that I'd love than to merge our two families someday … merge them into one."
"You love my mom?" I whisper, my anger already forgotten. She loves him too, I know. Tears prick the corners of my eyes.
"Very much so." Carlisle tenderly smiles. "But I'm concerned about you and Edward living under the same roof. I was a seventeen-year old boy once, Bella. I know what goes through their minds. Esme and I, we're not concerned with the two of you being attracted to each other."
"You're not?" I'm dumbfounded, staring at him in shock and disbelief.
"No." Carlisle laughs. "Two hormone-crazy kids lusting after one another is to be expected. It's the fallout from the situation that worries me."
Carlisle picks the edges of crust from the bread, tossing it to the side of the sandwich. Brushing the crumbs from his fingers, he shoots me a thoughtful glance.
"What happens if it doesn't work out? You and Edward?" he asks, studying my face. "What if it gets messy? Do I take sides with my son or sides with my girlfriend's daughter? Will this start a war between our two families? Bella, I'm not your enemy. I'll never tell you to stay away from my son, just as I'd never tell him to stay away from you. But you both should be aware of the complications that could arise."
"You've … talked to Edward about this?" I ask, slightly horrified by the thought.
"Yes, of course."
"And what did he say?" I ask, my eyes traveling back to the pool area, finding him. My breath hitches in my throat as I notice him staring at me, his eyes dawdling across my body, from the tips of my toes to my eyes.
"He told me there's nothing going on between the two of you," Carlisle says, sounding as if he's choosing his words carefully. "Esme and I, we just want to be prepared, Bella."
I glance at Carlisle, somehow ripping my gaze from his son. "You have nothing to worry about, Carlisle. There's nothing going on between Edward and I. Nothing at all."
Sunburned and tension filled, I tread the water in the pool, hyper-aware of my someday stepbrother's eyes drifting across my flesh. My mind is torn in two, one part of me believing he wants me just as badly as I want him, the other half of my brain fighting against reason, insisting that he's simply trying to make my life miserable.
I mean, come on, he denied that there was anything between us.
Hurt keeps dragging me down, my body wanting nothing more than to sink into the depth of the pool, but his voice and his teasing words keep me afloat. Well, that and the sight of his sun-kissed, tatted and pierced body, which are all constantly demanding my attention.
Grabbing my ankle, he pulls me down beneath the surface. My strangled scream is drowned beneath the chlorinated water. Tiny bubbles of air drift upward, escaping my lips as he digs his fingers into my ribs, my laughter swarming the clear water. Metal scratches against the bareness of my back and his thumbs sink into the dimples above my ass cheeks. We break the surface and I gasp for breath, my back melding against his chest.
"Dimples," he whispers, as his other four fingers dip below the string of my bikini bottoms, so remarkably close to the Promised Land. "That's what I'm calling you from now on. Dimples."
"You've always got a new nickname for me," I say, each swipe of his fingers waking me up in ways that only he can.
Closing my eyes, I wonder when and if it will happen: if he'll take things too far. Our parents are gone for the evening. My mother met up with a few old friends from town. They told us not to wait up, but I doubt I'll sleep tonight. Not when Edward is touching me in this watery haven.
"I could think of a few more," he says. "Nicknames, that is."
"What happened to ignoring me?" I ask. "Your breath smells like whiskey. You've been sneaking liquor from the wet bar."
"You think I taste like whiskey?" he asks, a smirk in his voice, his hands drifting lower. "Don't you wanna find out?"
The conversation between Carlisle and I flashes through my mind.
"Don't lie. I know you want to, Dimples. I bet you dream about it at night … what it'd be like to kiss me."
"Yeah, right." I scoff.
Edward's fingers dig into my flesh almost to the point of pain. I slip below the surface for a moment, my treading the water faltered by the heated waves of anger rolling off his body. Breaking away, Edward strokes the water with his long arms and legs, the kick of his feet splashing water into my face as he swims away.
Living with Edward is everything I thought it would be.
Sometimes we bump into each other in the hallway, sometimes, me wearing my bikini that he swears he hates—and I believe him. Every time he spots me wearing it, he skulks from whatever room we're in. He disappears into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and not emerging for sometimes hours on end. When he does return from his room, it's with sweat-slicked hair and jelly-like limps. Never meeting my gaze, he heads to the beach, disappearing down the shoreline. I can only imagine that it was the whiskey that made him frisky the night we were alone in the pool.
I wish he'd never snuck liquor from the cabinet that night. If he hadn't, I wouldn't be left with the memory of his fingers pressed below my hip bones, slipping so far down, so far down.
Closing my eyes at night, I touch the place where his fingers burned against my body, eventually trailing my fingers to the hidden place where I want him the most. My memory of him touching me in the pool gives me plenty of spank material, and leaves me sopping wet, but it's never enough to make my world explode.
Only he can do that.
Saturday arrives, and I finally hear from Rose via text, although the words are cryptic in nature.
wanna hang out? around eightish? step outside ur beach house, take a left. keep walking until u see us. wear ur suit. - Rose
There's no response to the text I send her, the one asking who 'we' are, and what she has planned. Daylight creeps away, replaced with the dimness of the evening. Night hasn't completely set in, but it's dark enough to see the stars sparkling in the sky. I see them through the windows in the den, where Mom, Carlisle, and Edward are all gathered watching a horror movie.
"Can I go hang out with Rose tonight?" I ask Mama, adjusting my boobs in my bikini top.
"Rose? You finally heard from Rose?" she asks, turning her full attention to me.
I shift uncomfortably on my feet, feeling awkward at the sight of her resting on the couch; her body slumped against Carlisle's. He threads his fingers through her hair, gently working his way through the strands and massaging her scalp.
"Yeah, I think maybe there's a beach party going on tonight," I say, remembering the Facebook thread.
"Oh, that sounds like fun," Mom smiles. "You should
take Edward and introduce him to Rose and your other friends."
Mama's voice is innocent, and her suggestion sounds as if it's made of nicety instead of cruel intentions. Still, I can't deny the swarm of jealousy stirring inside me, clouding my brain. The thought of Edward setting his eyes on my blonde bombshell of a friend sends uncertainty spiraling through my veins.
"Sure," I say, my voice full of false eagerness. "Why not?"
"I can't believe you're wearing that bikini."
Even the crash of the waves against the shore can't drown out Edward's sullen words. He's been acting like a douche ever since he agreed to tag along with me to the beach party, ever since we left the beach house.
"I'm sorry that you find my body so disgusting," I mutter, kicking at the foamy water lapping my feet. The sky is quickly darkening, making it difficult to find the seashells that I've been searching for.
"Who said your body is disgusting?"
"You run out of the room every time I wear this suit," I say, throwing up my hands.
"Bella." He laughs, shaking his head and rubbing his forehead in frustration. "What do you think I'm doing in my bedroom after I see you wear-"
Edward doesn't have time to finish his sentence. Something warm and squishy settles beneath my bare foot before a shooting pain stabs against my sole. I cry out, my knees weakening with the severity of the pain. I fall into his arms, and he pulls me from the ankle-deep water onto the dry sand. Even in the dim light of the sinking sun I see the concern that flutters in his eyes as he questions me.
"Jellyfish," I gasp, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Oh, shit. It hurts."
"What do I do?" Edward sits on the sand, crossing his legs beneath him. He cradles my foot tenderly in his hands, his fingers skimming over the flesh that doesn't hurt. "Should I carry you home?"
"No, no. I can't be late for the party."
"Bella, what if the jellyfish was venomous? Maybe I should call 911 …"
"No, don't be ridiculous, Edward. The ones around here aren't usually venomous. I'll be fine. The sting is already subsiding."
I'm totes lying. The sting hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but there's no way I'm missing the beach party.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice anything but sure. Cooch trembles as he stares at my foot and licks his lips. "Maybe I should treat it like a snake bite."
I open my mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a strangled, heated moan. Edward places his lips on my swollen flesh, giving it a small lick and then slowly sucking. I'm not gonna lie, he's making the pain worse, but it's a welcome agony. Even when he spits on the ground beside us, it's a turn on.
"You taste nice," he says, his voice low. "Like saltwater taffy."
"Goddamn," I whimper.
Thank God, his solution was to suck on my foot. And not pee on me.
Not that I would mind if he pulled out his cock for me, but golden showers just aren't my thing.
"I'm carrying you back home," he says, and the fucker picks me up as though I'm a rag doll. My barely-there bikini shifts and disappears in places that it shouldn't. His hands are chaste, but I don't want them to be.
"Wait, do you see that?" I ask, the darkness of the night causing a fire to burn brilliantly in the distance. "That's the beach party. That's where Rose is. Please, Edward. I miss my best friend."
Edward gazes down at me in trepidation, sucking on his viper bites. I've wanted to kiss him so many times, maybe just as many times as I've wanted him to kiss me, but no more so than this very moment. My hand grazes across the muscles spanning his upper back. I scratch my nails lightly across the surface, and I swear I hear a low groan erupt from the back of his throat.
"Fine, but we're not staying long," he says, bossily.
"I need to get you home, wrap your foot, and get you in the bed. Okay?"
Get me in the bed? Is that okay? If you only knew …
"So that's your stepbrother?" Roses asks, openly gaping at Edward who's standing just a few yards away. "He looks even better in person."
"He's not my stepbrother." I sigh. "Yet."
Apparently, Rose isn't the only girl who notices his hotness. I watch solemnly as girls surround him, laughing and tossing their hair. Some of the girls I recognize, some I don't, which makes me feel strange, as though I'm a casual observer in a group of people who I once considered my friends.
Things have changed, and I don't know how to handle this truth. Luckily, the dull throb in my foot demands my attention. I adjust the vinegar-soaked washcloth against my swollen sole, thankful that Rose found something to treat the sting.
The bonfire was a surprise party for me, one thrown by Rose and several other friends. The party was the reason for her elusiveness, she explained, sighing unhappily once I pointed out that I knew about the party from Facebook.
"Oh, snap. There's Paul," she murmurs against the lip of her red Solo cup. "I told him not to show his face."
I follow her gaze and notice the tanned skin of my ex, morphing into view. He holds a cup of his own in his hands, lumbering across the sand. The red, orange, purple, and blue sparks of the burning driftwood glow against his skin. Dark eyes capture mine and I'm not sure what reaction I should have, but the eerie nervousness settling into my bones isn't one of them.
"Are you gonna talk to Paul? Say the things that need to be said?" Rose asks. I nod, and she squeezes my hand before making her way back to the crowd surrounding a large cooler.
The log I'm sitting on shifts with his weight. Paul notices the washcloth in my hands and my foot propped on my knee.
"Bella, are you hurt?" he asks.
Paul sets his cup on the sand and removes the washcloth from my sore foot. He pokes and prods at the swollen flesh, causing me to wince.
Why do people do that? Poke at something when they know it hurts?
"I'm fine." I wave his hands away. He wipes them on his board shorts and rests his elbows on his knees. "Where's your girlfriend?"
My question doesn't come out bitter; only curious. I scan the small crowd looking for the younger girl I saw in his photo on Facebook, but spy nothing other than Edward, who's slamming back the contents of his cup.
"We broke up," he says, shrugging. "She wasn't what I was looking for."
"Yeah, what was that?" I ask, stealing his cup and taking a drink. I wrinkle my nose at the taste of something sweet, but much more sour. The bitterness is awful; nothing like the hunch punch I drank at the party in Washington.
Nothing like Washington.
I finish it anyway, saying nothing as he stands and leaves me, returning minutes later with two more drinks. I chug the bitter stuff, holding my breath. The alcohol takes the edge off, and for a second I relax beside my old boyfriend.
"What were you looking for?" I repeat, growing frustrated with his silence.
Paul toes the ground. Even his feet are the color of gingerbread, other than the telltale traces of tan lines from flip-flops worn on sunny days. The skin there is two shades lighter, but still warm and dark, something I once found attractive about this boy.
Now I'm obsessed with paleness, the only traces of color from the splashes of ink decorating a toned body.
"I was looking for you, Bella. I overreacted when that guy made those comments on your Facebook thread. I thought, I guess I thought you were cheating on me."
"You didn't even give me a chance to explain," I say, feeling a hard, heated stare land on me.
Paul finishes his drink and tosses the cup on the ground. Turning to face me, he licks the bitterness from his lips. My stomach tosses and my body shudders, because I know this look. I've known Paul for years, know every curve of his body, know all his tics, and I especially know the looks he's tossed my way over the years.
He's about to kiss me.
I hold up a hand in protest, but he ignores me and lunges forward, cradling my head tightly between his large hands, and pressing his lips against mine. The taste is just as I imagined— salty and sweet, with a hint of that God-awful drink tinging his mouth. I press my lips tightly together, refusing his tongue, which he forcefully attempts to slip between my lips. Strength isn't one of my strong suits, so he wins the battle, and I gag once his tongue almost forces its way down my throat.
A roar, and then the sound of bone crushing against bone rips through the night air.
Girls scream and guys mumble.
And Paul? Paul's tongue is no longer in my mouth.
The thirty-minute walk to the party takes us sixty minutes to get back to our beach house.
We're two of a kind, Edward with his busted knuckles and drunk to boot, me, with only one good foot to stand on. I've never seen Edward plastered, and I've often wondered what kind of drunk he would be: angry or happy. I can only describe him as valiant, standing up for me by beating the shit out of the guy who nearly mouth-raped me with his tongue, then attempting to carry me back home in his arms.
We crumble onto the sand half a dozen times between the party and the beach house. I want to be irritated with him, with the constant falling and the way he could have potentially gotten his ass beat at the party. Rose was his saving grace.
Once the guys saw their friend laying prone on the ground they darted forward, but Rose planted herself between them and Edward, explaining that she'd seen the whole thing. Even now, hundreds of yards from the party, I can still feel the slice of their eyes cutting into Edward's retreating body.
Edward never releases me, even after banging my head on the frame of my bedroom door. I squeal out, and he giggles like a child, laughing boisterously at the glare I send his way. I rub my head in pain and frustration, and he dumps me on my bed. My body bounces and he loses his footing, falling into bed with me.
Edward hovers over me for a long time, the teasing smile fading from his face. I swallow the dry lump in my throat and close my eyes as he places one hand flat on my abdomen.
"You're drunk," I whisper, excusing him from whatever he wants to do. Maybe he's like me. Maybe he won't remember this in the morning.
Instead of traveling south, his hand drifts north. Forcing my eyes open, I watch as he hesitantly rests one hand over my left tit and gives it a gentle squeeze.
Liquid heat pools in the pit of my stomach and I moan at the sensation of it flooding between my legs. Reaching up, I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him down to my chest, hissing at the warmth of his breath over my bikini-clad nipple.
This must be a dream. I drank too much of that nasty punch.
That's the only explanation I have for what happens next.
Edward's tongue darts out, his eyes on mine as the hardened tip of his tongue swirls around my straining nipple, wetting the fabric of my bikini. Nibbling slightly, he then takes it in his mouth, shallowly sucking.
Something hard jabs against my leg, and dear Lord it's his cock. Long, thick, and solid, he grinds it against my thigh, and I remember. I remember how it looks without the shroud of his salt-water stiffened board shorts hiding it. Wetness seeps out near the tip, precum staining the fabric and leaving a sticky trail along my skin. Metal drags against my bare thigh below the surface of his shorts, and I want his pierced peen inside me now.
Unable to take it anymore, I push his face away, noticing the hurt and confusion in his eyes. The expression doesn't last for long. I untie the string behind my neck, and the weight of my boobs is released. Slowly, reverently, he bunches the fabric in his hands and tugs it down, exposing my bare chest.
My nipples pucker, tightening harder as the tip of his finger traces circles around one, dusty-pink peak. He watches in rapt fascination as my nipple tightens with his touch. With each circle of my nipple, my body winds tighter, so tightly that I believe I will explode at any given moment. I take his free hand and place it between my legs, boldly, so boldly that he raises his glazed eyes to mine in shock.
Holding my gaze, his tongue darts out and wets my nipple, flickering against it. My hips rise and my legs spread further open, fueled on by the feather light touch of his middle finger tracing the wet slit over my bikini bottoms. I cry out once his finger presses firmly against the hardened nub of my clit, and I'm almost there.
Please make me come.
"Oh, God," Edward suddenly moans, but it's not a moan of pleasure.
He stills over me, abandoning my wanton nipple. A string of saliva travels between my nipple and his lips. In the moonlight filtering through the window nearby, I see a grimace on his perfect face.
"Bathroom," I whisper, horrified by the thought of him vomiting on my nearly naked body. "Now."
Edward nods and stands, swaying on his feet. He stumbles from the room, and I grab the strings of my bikini, struggling to tie it behind my neck. I open the bedroom door wider, hoping to follow him and care for him the same way he's taken care of me all evening.
But I'm stopped in my tracks.
Carlisle is standing in the hallway between our two bedrooms.
Staring at me knowingly...
Dom, dom, dommmm …
What Hoodie has been up to:
TheSinners: DazzledIn2008, GothicTemptress, JonesnInDaHood (Jonesn and Hoodfabulous), LayAtHomeMom, Planetblue, Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy, and SexiLexiCullen. Author search TheSinners and check out the compiliation of sinful one-shots we each wrote as our gift to the fandom. Jonesn and I wrote Wrath. You can also find it under our joint JonesnInDaHood collab account … not for the faint of heart.
In the Shadows – a mobward one-shot I wrote for Franny's birthday. I may expand it some day ... who knows? This story started as a OS. ;)
Bad Boys of Twilight Contest – contest I'm hosting. Winners to be announced Saturday.
First Time Fumbles Contest- contest I'm helping judge. Go check out the entries.
Peace and Love - Hoodie