Contest entry for the Dirty Talkin' Edward Contest
Title: Just Enough
Pairing: Edward & Bella
Summary: I was dangerously close to stepping over that line, but it was going to take a little help. He gave me just enough.
Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.
I'm in my element tonight: smiling, laughing, drinking, mingling through the crowd of semi-familiar faces.
Standing against the wall, I take a breather – scanning the room, people-watching.
A hand comes to rest lightly on the small of my back, just high enough to still look innocent. The contact is searing, heating me up both inside and out.
He leans in close, dipping down to reach my height, lips just far enough away to avoid drawing attention.
"Hello," he whispers, warm breath blowing across my ear, causing an immediate wave of goose bumps to run down my arms. And an echoing wave of … other feelings … down lower.
I shut my eyes, take a deep breath in; exhale slowly, open again.
I can't look at him.
But I do.
Deep emerald eyes meet mine, brows slightly furrowed, searching for something. I meet his stare, challenging. After a moment, his expression lightens.
One corner of his mouth turns up.
That damn smirk.
His gaze wanders down and back up the full length of my body, taking his time, not the least bit ashamed. A brief pause below the shoulders – he has a good angle – then we meet again.
Ever patient, nothing needs to be said, I wait. I've gotten a little too used to this game.
And here comes the trademark. Hook, line, and I am so fucking screwed.
That damn wink.
We both know he's not talking about the boots. They're just tall enough to draw attention to my legs, in particular the fact that they're hardly covered by the clingy dress that barely falls mid-thigh.
I try to give my best smirk back.
I need a little more practice.
On the inside, my heart is pounding, blood racing, butterflies fighting to the death.
On the outside, I smile sweetly.
He likes that – shakes his head, grinning. He thinks I don't get flustered. He tries so hard.
How can he not see how flustered he makes me? He doesn't even need the wink to do it. Although I admit it is nice.
As is the blatant eye-fucking.
Very nice, indeed. And I can give as well as I take:
Crisp white shirt, tucked neatly, two buttons opened. Bulging-but-not-offensively-large biceps, lean chest and tight abs. Narrow waist leading to long legs encased in dark denim, (something else may be bulging), ending with fuck-me cowboy boots.
Back up to the sharp jaw line, full, pink lips, penetrating gaze, and top it all off with the fuck-me sex hair that's just wild enough to be believable.
Fuck me, from top to bottom.
I stare just long enough to earn another smirk. Pretty sure I'd get one even without the ogling.
Pausing one beat too long, a shout comes from across the table. "You're up!"
Apologetic, and yet not, I step forward and swish, swish, swish my way over.
I look back and he's gone.
Focused, I flex my fingers around the stick, examining the options. I twirl it absently as I shift left a bit, crouch down and line up the shot.
Feeling confident, I rise up, bend over, reach out. Smack and it's in. A couple cheers from the crowd.
Hesitating a moment, I freeze at the slight brush against my ass.
Same electricity, same brashness, same culprit. No need to turn around to confirm.
I wriggle slightly before standing up straight. Half in reaction, half in retaliation. The room is loud but the soft groan might as well be right beside me.
Peripheral vision tells me he's sitting against the wall off to the right. I take the long shot directly in front of him. A little more wiggling – definitely necessary.
Miss. I back up, feigning defeat. The crackle of heat in the air between us tells me when to stop.
A single fingertip draws slowly across the back of one knee, and I can't help but twitch, clenching my hands around the cue for support.
His low, deep chuckle causes other places to clench.
"He didn't come tonight?" he asks, just casual enough to hide the curiosity from everyone but me.
"No, he said he wasn't feeling well." I grin triumphantly – masking the true reason – holding up my spoils – changing the subject. "But they still gave me his drink tickets."
His raised eyebrow questions, "Are you really going to use all of those?"
Never mind I'm already halfway in. My long island sits abandoned across the room, because … he wasn't over there.
I shrug. "Might as well get the most bang for my buck."
I'm just tipsy enough to think that was funny. And he's just perceptive enough to know I meant something entirely different.
He stands, leans in again, and there can't be more than a hair's width between his lips and my neck.
He hums lowly. "I'd never let you out of my sight, looking like that." Slow step back, and a wry grin. "You don't need to stay home to take care of him?"
The rough sound in my throat might be an annoyed huff. "He can take care of himself."
Been doing it for years now.
Just like I have.
Apologetic glance, a nod; we're good again.
We could be even better …
It's his turn. I watch. Very closely.
He sets up to take the shot, diagonally across from me. I mirror, bending low as if to check the angle. His eyes drop – he's checking out something else now.
Clack.Not even close.
I give a cheeky grin and quickly trek over to grab my drink. He meets me back in the dim corner.
He shakes his head, exhaling just heavily enough that I know not to feel bad about it. Actually, I'm a little bit pleased with myself.
"You're trouble," he accuses, teasingly.
Eyes open wide. "I didn't do anything – I'm totally innocent," I assert, pointing to my obviously-not-so-innocent face.
His darkened expression lights a fire in my veins.
"You know exactly what you're doing to me." Low voice, hooded eyes, intense.
His gaze revisits the low-cut neckline of my dress, as if trying to make a point. I'm sure he can see his success poking through the thin material. This outfit doesn't work with a bra, after all.
Sipping my drink to prolong … whatever this is, just a little more, I glance around the room. People who know him, know me, yet don't know us at all.
Except … her.
I can feel his eyes focus in on me as I carefully lick the alcohol from my lips.
My gaze follows her across the floor. She's drunk, laughing, having fun – she's probably really nice, too. But she's not me.
And he's not next to her right now.
He's not standing just close enough to feel the heat of her body, entire being attentive to her actions, hand running up the back of her thigh …
Bless those long arms.
Soft fingertips draw lazy patterns just below the hem of my dress. Inching up. And up. And up.
And right back out.
One beat passes; a decision is made.
"C'mon." He grabs my hand tightly, weaving between and around people at random. Another dark corner, empty cocktail table, a single stool. He sits and maneuvers my hips so I'm standing in front of him, facing the crowd.
Nobody notices a thing.
My pulse quickens. His hands still on my waist, gripping firmly.
"I need to touch you," he pleads softly, sounding vulnerable for the first time I can remember. "Please let me touch you." Without waiting for an answer the fingers of one hand resume their earlier path, raising just slightly, enough to slip under the fabric.
I tense; he pauses.
Then starts again with renewed vigor.
Why am I thinking twice about this? No, no, why am I doing this? I have … him.
He continues gently tracing under the curves of my ass, distracting me from my thoughts. One pass, two, three … nothing … a light tap of his palm and I gasp.
"Fuck," he groans. "Your skin is so soft. So smooth."
He grabs a handful, squeezing.
"You're such a fucking tease, you know that?"
My hips jerk; his grasp holds me back.
"When you bent over the table right in front of me … putting your ass on display … shit, I just wanted to reach out and grab it. Or maybe I should have bent you over even further, and spanked you right then and there. Is that what you wanted me to do, naughty girl? Did you want me to lift your skirt up and punish you for teasing me, right in the middle of the room where everyone could see you?"
He must hear my sharp intake of breath as I realize, once again, I've lost myself and forgotten our surroundings. Another sharp hit to my backside accompanies his grunt.
"Ungh, fuck, I can just picture it. My hand pressing you down against the table, those beautiful breasts spilling out of your top. Your dress bunched up around your waist, round ass exposed in full view. Every time I spank you, you'd rock up against the table. Mmm, I bet the felt would feel amazing against your hard nipples, rubbing back and forth along your naked tits. You wouldn't be able to move your hands, so you'd have to keep grinding your body against the table to get friction. You'd have no shame wiggling around so lewdly, would you? You're pushing that sexy ass right into my hand, just asking for it. Teasing me even more, such a dirty girl."
He smacks again, harder, again, the other side, again, twice more. Rubbing and groping out of sight; kneading the flesh, soothing the sting.
"I bet your ass is nice and pink for me now. God, I wish I could see it. But I can't, can I? Not right here, not in front of everybody."
Feeling my reaction, the grin seeps through in both his voice and his touch.
"Does that excite you, little minx? It does, doesn't it? You want them to see you. You want them to know what I'm doing to you. I knew it. I knew you were this fucking naughty the first time I saw you."
I shiver in pleasure at his words, dark and gritty. No one knows … no one knows my thoughts, my passions, my fantasies. I've certainly never told anyone, not even him. But this man, he's been paying such close attention. To me.
That feels so good.
I try to remember back to the first time we met. Everything blurs together in my mind – under his ministrations – the subtle glances, the not-so-subtle ones, laughing, flirting, bodies just near enough to touch, the innuendo … that damn wink.
Firm digits circle around my inner thighs. Not high enough.
"Everyone thinks you're so damn sweet. So innocent. But I know better."
The circles draw closer and closer.
I hold my breath.
"Does he touch you like this?" he growls suddenly, fully palming me through my panties, possessively, no warning.
The unexpected spark almost sends me toppling over; his grip and the table keep me just upright enough to arouse no suspicion, only … me.
"Well?" he demands. A finger glides smoothly over each edge of my panty line, dipping in and out at whim. "Answer me, now. Does he do this for you?"
"Yes …" I admit, almost shamefully.
But it never feels like this.
"It never feels this good, does it?" he chuckles. As if he can read my mind. "I bet he doesn't know how to touch you properly. No one can …" – one finger, full stroke, top to bottom, I shake – "No one else can bring this sweet pussy to life like I can."
"Oh, god," I moan.
"I don't mind you calling me god," he purrs, pulling me closer by his firm hold underneath my dress – oh, the friction! "But I hope you'll be screaming my name when I make you come."
I can only groan in response. The things he makes me feel … I always wanted him to talk like this, play my body like this, but no. No, it's never been like this.
Two fingers slip past the lace barrier and toy with my lower lips. Pulling, pressing, pinching.
Pressure is building.
My eyes drift closed, only to snap open quickly when he taps vigorously a few times on my clit.
"Look at them." He twines his free hand in the bottom of my curls, tugging just sharply enough that I'm forced to lift my chin and obey. My eyes drift over the others: unknowing, unsuspecting, unseeing.
I see everything, and I see nothing.
"Do you think they can tell?" he whispers conspiratorially. "Do you think they know I've got my hand up your dress, playing with your pussy right in front of them? My fingers stroking your clit, sliding deep inside you?"
His actions mirror his words – one long finger rubs circles around my entrance before pressing slowly inside. Drawing back out, pushing forward, further and further each time, now three knuckles deep.
"I wonder what we'd do if they caught us. Hmmm? Would you want to stop? I don't think so … I think I'd like to keep going, keep bringing you pleasure. They can watch if they'd like. That would drive you crazy, wouldn't it? I bet that would turn you on even more, you naughty girl. All their eyes focused on you as you come undone by my fingers."
He pulls out all the way; I swear I can hear the squelch of my juices as he adds a second finger.
"Damn, baby, you're so wet for me. Is this all for me?"
He continues on – fingers sliding, scissoring, stretching me wide open. "Fucking hot, wet … tight pussy. Ungh. How the hell are you so tight? I've never felt anything this good, and that's just my fingers. Imagine how much better it will feel when it's my cock inside you. Ramming into you, over and over and over again, rubbing along every inch of those slick pussy walls until you explode. If I'm not careful I might pound into you so hard you break right in half."
The future-tense makes my breath hitch, as I'm spurred on by the dangerous combination of his words and his touch.
"Shit, I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Sucking them in. You want to keep them in there? You want to keep my fingers buried in your tight pussy? Okay, if that's what you want."
All motion stops. My muscles clench around his stilled fingers, willing them to move again.
Barely holding in a cry of protest, I whimper pitifully.
"Heh." The smirk is out in full force. "Is that not what you wanted? Not enough for my little minx, hmmm? Don't worry, I think I can do quite a lot from right here. Let's see …"
He starts wiggling his fingertips. Turning and twisting. I can't even describe what I'm feeling; there's an explosion of new sensations, caressing me from the inside.
Then he hits a certain spot.
"Ah ah ah, not so loud. We'll get to that soon," I'm scolded.
He brushes the same spot again, lightly circling.
Again. Rubbing harder, excruciatingly slowly.
My muscles tighten.
Suddenly he starts moving his whole hand again, shoving in and out with quick strokes. Quivering, I shift my hips to meet his fingers each time.
"That's it, you fucking tease. Fuck yourself on my fingers. You really want it, don't you? That's right – take it. Use my body how you want to."
I can't help my reaction to his commands. My body keeps moving in time with his thrusts: pushing, pulling, taking, giving.
I've climbed all the way up. Hanging on to the very edge, waiting, waiting …
"You're close, aren't you? Let go, baby. I want to see you come for me. Do it, right now!"
He twists just enough to press that spot one more time, and I'm done.
I leap over, squeezing my eyes shut, as my entire body freezes save for the muscles spasming around him. I shake and shake and shake.
It takes me so long to come back to myself; when I do, I barely register that he hasn't paused his movements at all, continuing slow, deep strokes over my sensitive flesh.
It's a few more minutes until my breathing has somewhat stabilized, and I finally realize he has no intention of stopping yet.
"You're so beautiful when you come," he whispers reverently. "Thank you for giving me that."
His tone is awed; where is the cocky, confident man from earlier?
"Shouldn't I be the one thanking you?" My voice is as shaky as my knees.
He laughs, full and happy; I smile – he's back.
"I'm glad to hear that, but not yet, sweetheart, just you wait. I've got more planned for you. And it looks like you're just about ready for me."
His hand hasn't stopped moving.
I'm revving up again.
"You're dripping all over my hand, dirty girl. It just keeps coming and coming. Like you're going to be, again, very soon."
Oh, god, the things this man can do with just his words. I've never been able to orgasm more than once, but this time I don't doubt it will happen.
"My hand is so slick with your juices. I wonder how you taste … are you sweet, or tangy? Maybe a little bit of both? Fuck, I know just what I'd do after I'm done spanking you. I'd flip you over on the table, spread you wide open and dive right in for a taste. I'd feast on your pussy for dessert, my own private buffet. Would you like that, baby? Would you like to feel all the different ways I can caress you with my tongue, inside and out?"
"I would love that, and I bet you'd enjoy it, too," I respond – though it was probably rhetorical – almost forcing the words out in my hypersensitive state. "I think I'm pretty fucking delicious."
"Fuck!" he whisper-yells, increasing his pace ever so slightly. An unintentional reaction that makes me proud.
"You've tasted yourself?" He groans a drawn-out curse when I nod. "You are a naughty girl. Shit. Do you touch yourself often?"
"And do you lick your fingers clean when you're done?"
"Ungh … fuck. Dammit, woman, what are you doing to me? God, I'm so fucking hard right now. I can't take it any more."
He releases my side briefly; I hear the pull of a zipper, some rustling, and his sigh of relief.
Those jeans must have gotten very snug …
His left hand joins his right, doubling the teasing touches for just a few seconds before slipping away again. I hear a wet lapping sound along with soft moans and realize he's licking his fingers, tasting my essence. His obvious appreciation coaxes a fresh gush of liquid from me. His hand isn't able to catch it all; I can feel it running down my thighs.
"You were right, you are fucking delicious. Mmm, sweet and musky, and oh-so-creamy. Amazing. Fuck, I love that you love the taste of your own pussy. That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard."
He doesn't replace his hand on my waist. Instead, I hear the unmistakable sound of flesh rubbing together. He's stroking his dick, matching pace as he continues thrusting his fingers inside of me.
My fingers twitch at my sides, desperate to touch him, too. I want to turn around, but somehow I know I'm not allowed to … yet.
"I bet it would be the hottest thing I've ever seen, too, watching you suck your juices off your fingers, swirling your tongue around them like you can't get enough. Well, except for watching you suck my cock. I'd love to have you wrap those sexy, pouty lips around my dick. Would you let me fuck your mouth? I think you would. You'd be begging me to stuff my cock down your throat, and you'd take everything I gave you, like the dirty girl I know you are."
He finally adds a third finger. I have to bite down hard on my bottom lip to stop from screaming out at the incredible feeling of being stretched.
"Filling your pussy with my fingers is fucking amazing, but it would be so much better to fill you up with my cock. Do you think you could handle me? I'm not so sure … you're so damn tight, I don't know if I've stretched you enough for me to even fit in there. You'd be squeezing my cock so snugly; I wouldn't be able to last very long. It's gonna be hard and fast, baby." His hands speed up. "Shit, my cock is so jealous right now. It wants to pound into that hot pussy, too."
I feel his movements shifting; he pulls out and teases my entrance, gathering the wetness spilling out, and then switches hands, reinserting his fingers. The most pleasurable groan meets my ears and makes me think … maybe … fuck, is he? I have to look now, turning back over my shoulder.
Oh, god. I can see his cock standing proudly from his parted jeans, no underwear, head engorged and dripping from the tip.
He really wasn't kidding about it being a tight fit; even his own hand barely fits around it.
And yes, yes, he is stroking himself with the hand that was just in my pussy. Coating himself in my juices. I can see it glistening even in the dim lights that barely reach this corner. His eyes are squeezed shut, the most intense look of concentration gracing his gorgeous face, a mix of pleasure and pain.
He looks up and notices me watching.
Ugh, I hate him.
No, I really don't.
He gets into a rhythm, increasing the pace, and soon I can tell we're both getting close. My entire body is tingling, nerve endings on fire, still oversensitive from my first orgasm. I'm stuck in a cycle between wanting these feelings to go on forever, and needing them to end. Right. Now.
I can't stop.
"Shhh, I know, I know. I'm right there with you, baby. Let me help you. Turn around so I can see you."
He removes his hand and pushes on my hip until I spin around, then quickly starts back up where he left off. Three fingers moving deep inside me, thumb rubbing firm circles around my clit.
We lock eyes for only the second time since this whole thing started, and everything slows down. It's no longer just about hurried movements, stealing bits of pleasure in a darkened corner of a dingy bar.
It's intimate. It's … more.
In this moment, no words are needed.
Suddenly, his fingers curl, press, there! – he leans forward, biting my hardened nipple through the fabric – and my world explodes.
I come harder than ever before, choking out his name into the palm he quickly places over my mouth to muffle my screams.
Slowly regaining my senses, I notice that he hasn't finished, still stroking his stiff cock languidly as he watches me relax from my orgasm. Without a second thought I reach out, brushing his hand aside and taking him in both of mine, stroking hard at the base with one while palming the head and twisting with the other. He grips the sides of his chair tightly, focusing his eyes on my movements.
"Shit, baby," he grunts. "Your hot little hands feel so good squeezing my dick."
He's still soaked in my juices. Knowing how much he wants it, I lift one hand to my lips, rubbing the fluid on like gloss and sensuously licking it off, humming in pleasure as I taste my familiar flavor with a little bit of him mixed in. He watches intently, inhaling sharply as I finish cleaning my fingers and return my hand to him.
"Oh, god, yesss … that's it, taste yourself, dirty girl. Lick it all up. Fuck, fuck, fuck." My hands tighten around him; he tenses and starts to twitch sporadically. "Ungh, so good, shit, I'm gonna come! I'm coming for you. Take it, take what I give you, like I know you want to. Fuck!"
I feel his cock start to pulse in my hands. At the very last second, I lean down and capture his tip in my mouth, sucking him in as he thrusts once, twice, shooting stream after stream of warm, salty liquid down my throat. I swallow everything he gives me, cleaning him off with my tongue, eventually releasing him with a pop and a final lick for good measure. He tucks himself back in his pants as his breathing slowly returns to normal.
Our eyes meet again; we both freeze.
So many things going unspoken.
"There you guys are! We're starting up another game, come on."
Our not-at-all-private bubble is suddenly – and quite unwelcomely – broken. Exhaling simultaneously, we both seem to have the same thought as we turn to survey the room.
Nothing has changed. Or has it?
I know neither of us intended for something like this to happen tonight, but I can't bring myself to regret it, at least not in this moment.
However, reality won't wait for us to figure anything out.
Instead, we're ushered back to the group and both kept busy by other people. Occasionally stealing glances across the room, but never managing to get close. I finally make an excuse to go to the bathroom, and clean up the evidence of our earlier … activities. I also sneak in a quick pep-talk with the mirror.
Stepping back out, my eyes quickly find him again.
Hand-in-hand with her.
I may have taken a step over the line tonight, but I'm just not brave enough to stay.
No work today – he's out of town on business – so I spend my time thinking, re-thinking, over-thinking. Replaying last night, his hands on my body; calling out his name as I bring myself to orgasm again and again.
In this empty bed.
Back at work, and I can't stop obsessing. What will happen when I see him?
We're different now – aren't we?
But he smiles at me in the hallway. Like always ... or maybe not; maybe there's a little bit of tenderness there.
I've been watching closely, after all.
Almost to the corner, he calls my name just softly enough that I'm the only one who turns around.
Then he winks.
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Public voting: August 13 2013 to 27 August 2013.