Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
This story contains man-on-man sexing, otherwise known as 'slash'. If you have a problem with that, please stop here.
This story also contains swear words, violence, angst, and, because I don't want you to forget, man-on-man sexing.
There is both Edward/Jasper sexing and Edward/Carlisle sexing. It's not a triangle, really, but I thought I'd warn you.
Thank you to my lovely beta, Strae.
He came in daily, routinely. Same time, same quiet table in the back, same chair even. Always the same smile for everyone that caught his eye, always the same smile at me before he left.
His reading choices were the only changing thing. His taste seemed so eclectic, like he'd walked through any given aisle, paused at a random shelf and just pulled a book out. It seemed he'd read anything that came in printed form, from horror to comedy to memoir to romance. He always seemed engrossed, no matter the subject or genre.
He'd always just stay for a short hour, never reading a minute longer. I'd always disappear the moment his hour was up, knowing he'd be coming up to the desk to check out his current book of choice. Bella seemed to notice my extreme level of shyness around this man, but she never said a word, simply letting me hover from a distance, just to hear him speak.
Bella would offer some trivial opinion about what he was reading, given she had read or heard about it.
"Oh, this one's a tear-jerker."
"I've never laughed so hard in my life."
"Ack, history, I thought you had good taste."
He'd always politely thank her, chuckling a deep rumble of a laugh when called for, glance back at me with a polite smile, and wish her a good day.
He never ceased to make my heart race or my head spin.
I don't know what it was about him, but anytime I was near him, my throat would close up, my palms would grow sweaty, my mind would go suddenly blank, and I would turn into the world's best clam impersonator. I couldn't speak to him, I couldn't meet his eye without bursting into a heated flush, I couldn't approach him or even feign some hint of normality because the second my eyes would connect with his ice blue ones, everything disappeared. I was suddenly thrust into an alternate universe where I was brave and confident.
I would approach him and, unhesitant, I'd grip his short blonde hair and pull his mouth to mine. He'd react accordingly, stripping me naked then forcing me down onto the table in front of him, ridding himself of his own clothing before covering my body with his. A shudder would tear through me as he hitched my legs around his hips, teasing me mercilessly, continuously doing so for hours. He would make me beg for him, and I willingly would plead and whimper my desperate need for him, longing to feel him filling my body. He'd kiss and caress every inch of my bared skin, leaving no piece untouched, tasting and feeling and learning me from the outside in. Until finally, finally, he'd lose the battle with patience, lose himself and give into me, into the want. He'd take, and take hard, until neither of us could stand it anymore and our throats were raw from screaming each other's names and all we knew was how perfectly we fit together. The end would near, we'd both know it was coming as we unabashedly marred the other's skin with our need. Our sounds would grow louder, our movements quicker and more disjointed, then everything would tighten, anticipation nearing its final precipice, thoughts waning, desisting completely when we both ultimately explode...
"Excuse me, sir!"
Shit. It happened again.
I snapped my eyes away from the enchanting blue ones, shifting my lower body quickly behind the front desk to hide the fact that just a look from him affected me so profoundly.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, how can I help you?" I asked her as calmly as I possibly could, my voice coming out in a mere squeak.
"I would like to check these books out, please," she demanded, quite rudely shoving the books across the low counter.
I gave her a forced smile and took her library card, scanning it, then the books before bagging them up for her.
It was so utterly impossible for me to focus the entire hour he graced us with. After months of the same routine, his presence at the library was becoming an addiction for me. I craved it, I needed it, I longed for it. And yet, I couldn't even be nearer to him than a good twenty feet―ten if Bella was between us.
What exactly it was about him that affected me so, I don't honestly know. He's not the first man to catch my attention, though he definitely held it in a more overpowering way than anyone before him. Not to mention the fact that despite being shy, I've never been quite so unbearably introverted around anyone this way before. There was never a time I wasn't capable of words around a person before―or even a conscious thought.
He was also obviously older than me. I hadn't ever been attracted to a man so much more mature than my measly twenty one years. He looked... well, he looked fucking edible, but besides that he looked to be mid-thirties at least, maybe even pushing forty. Even if he was double my age, he was undoubtedly the most beautiful man I'd ever laid my eyes upon.
His shockingly bright blue eyes combined with his platinum-blonde hair and pale complexion gave him an ethereal look, nearly that of an angel. I doubt any angel would lead me to quite so vulgar thoughts... but perhaps I was just that sick and twisted.
I could tell beneath his customary trousers and button ups that he was fit. Muscular while remaining thin in appearance. I could imagine how perfectly exquisite he would be laid out nude; hard muscles under soft pale flesh, so much flawless skin for my inquisitive fingers and mouth to explore.
I wanted him. Terribly. More than I'd ever wanted anyone before. Terrifyingly.
It was mildly ridiculous since I couldn't even checkout his damn library books for him without nearly passing out―not that I'd had the courage to even try.
But courage be damned because there he stood, directly before me, a whole twenty minutes and fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven seconds before he was supposed to be.
As I met his eyes, the sudden shift nearly took me by surprise. Everything, everyone disappeared except him, myself, and the table. There I lie, nude, less his mouth hiding the most intimate part of my body deep in his throat. Velvet tongue gliding, firm yet soft lips griping, throat massaging, sharp teeth ever so gently scraping. Saliva coating as he sucks along my length until...
"Hello."
I snap my eyes away from his, blinking rapidly to burn away the images, swallow consecutively three times to empty my mouth of copious amount of saliva. Had I drooled? Oh, please, please tell me I hadn't just drooled all over myself in front of him.
He pushed his book across the counter at me, and there I stood, stalk still.
"Are you feeling well?" he asked slowly.
Say something, you fool.
I nodded my head, not placing my eyes anywhere near his dangerous, exquisite body, face, or eyes. I couldn't speak, my tongue felt swollen and tied, my throat tight and closed-off barely letting air through. I hesitantly pulled his book across the counter, careful not to lose his card placed within it to hold his spot. I scanned the card, my eyes greedily taking in the information of Carlisle Cullen displayed across the screen, scanned the book, then set it back down on the desk as his receipt printed.
I wished I could say something, anything. Even a simple 'good day' would suffice. Or a 'hello' would have been nice, 'how are you today', 'can I do anything else for you', 'would you like to see my home, sir'. Anything. Instead, nothing came out of my mouth as I handed him the receipt. Not a confirmation of the due date, as I was required to tell every customer―even if I knew he would be back tomorrow, same time, same seat, same beautiful smile―not even a squeak, nothing.
Until I saw his left hand, embellished with a gold band on his third finger. Then my mouth worked perfectly well.
"You're married?" I gasped.
My mouth snapped close as my eyes moved to his face, for the first time ever, locking with his and not transporting me to 'the table'. I was shocked with myself, my audacity, the uncouth behavior I was exhibiting. But even more shocking was the sudden anguish on his normally positive face. Not even just that, but he tore the receipt from my fingers and grabbed his book, turning his back without a word and rushing away.
What in the world had I done?
"Jeez, Edward, what did you say to him?" Bella asked me moments after his departure.
Oh sure, now she was here. Where was she three minutes ago, when I needed her? Where the hell was she when she was supposed to be the one checking him out, while I checked him out?
"I... uh," I stuttered.
"Did one of you finally own up to the fact that you've both been eye-fucking each other for weeks?" she whispered amusedly.
"Bella!" I hissed at her, stomping away. I faltered and stopped rather suddenly, turning right around to march on back to her. She smirked boastfully as she stood there awaiting my return. "What do you mean he eye-fucks me?" I demanded.
She rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, come on, you've had to notice by now he looks at you the same way you look at him."
"No," I contradicted her weakly.
There was no he looked at me the same, no way he imagined me in the ways I thought of him. He was married! Just as he should be. I must have been a fool to not realize sooner. He was the best looking man I'd ever met, and kind, obviously smart. Of course he was married.
"Oh, yes, Edward. He most certainly wants into your pants just as much as you want into his, you're both just too blind to see it."
I elbowed her. "Don't be crass, Isabella."
She snorted and rolled her eyes at me. "Don't be such a prude, Eddie. How long has it been for you, anyway?"
That question was just every color of inappropriate. She, of all people, couldn't ask me that. Bella, you see, wasn't just a friend, but actually an ex-lover. I'd lost my virginity to her soon after meeting her in college and quickly realized that I wasn't exactly into girls. I didn't mind getting my dick wet, but I preferred to wet someone else, if you know what I mean. We remained friends, as the chemistry between us didn't really cause sparks to fly or any awkward problems at all, but she was still my ex. She couldn't ask about my sex life, just as I couldn't ask about hers.
"Don't look at me like that Prudy McPrudington. Have you seriously not gotten any at all since that one night stand however many months ago?"
My cheeks flamed at that and I stared firmly at the toes of my shoes, hoping to avoid her question. But Bella knew my tells, she knew me better than anyone. I hadn't even told her about the one night stand, she'd discerned that one on behavior alone. Just like she now knew I hadn't slept with anyone since that drunken night of mistakes that landed me in the bed of a man named Jasper―who's number was still saved in my phone, for some reason.
"Edward, I love you and everything, but you need to get out more often. You wouldn't be so God-awfully uptight if you had your kinks worked out now and then." She snickered at her own little lame insinuative joke.
"Thank you, so much," I growled at her, glaring over my shoulder at her as I walked away.
As if it already wasn't a bad enough day for me. I needed a damn drink.
– – –
I woke up with a groan.
Oh, God, I hurt.
I made to roll over, to shut my eyes and go right back to sleep, but I suddenly noticed the weight on my chest wasn't from any of my own limbs. Instead, there upon my chest rested the hand of a stranger, possessively palming my left pec. I looked right and there lie a man with a vaguely familiar face and curly, dishwater blonde hair, fast asleep and drooling on my pillows.
Not again, I whimpered internally, turning my head away. What the hell had I done now?
I wracked my brain, but I couldn't even remember anything after leaving the library last night. But I was obviously hung over, my damn head was killing me, and thinking was making it hurt worse. And there I was in bed with a stranger―well, sort of, we'd met one time before, in very similar circumstances―having no recall of how I ended up with him. Again.
At least this time I was in my own home. It's impossible to explain how utterly humiliating and terrifying it is to wake up in a strange bed, in a strange home, lying next to a stranger, with a strange feeling in your bum, wondering how in the goddamned hell you wound up there. Then, with a hangover, trying to escape without said stranger not noticing, while also trying to gather your clothing, only to realize you still have no idea where you are or how you got there.
I'm not very resourceful. I had a hell of a time getting home after the first instance. Thankfully, I was able to call for a taxi and be picked up based on the name of the apartment complex alone. I still nearly had a panic attack though.
Him being in my home, in my bed, almost seemed worse though. Everything was just as strange as last time, though my bum didn't feel quite so sore and my anxiety wasn't quite so high considering I at least knew where I was. But alas, he was still a strange man. All I really knew of him was his name, Jasper. I'm sure we've talked, but that was the only thing I could remember.
What the hell would happen now? Would he leave? Would I have to ask him to leave? Would I literally have to shove him from my bed and my home?
Oh, God, this is going to be uncomfortable.
I didn't realize I'd moved at all until he moaned a greeting to me, lightly pinching my nipple before sliding his hand down over my stomach. I desperately tried to pretend to be asleep, struggling to keep my body perfectly relaxed and still, at peace―which I was not!
He chuckled quietly. "Nice try, I know you're awake."
He rolled toward me and I instantly rolled in the opposite direction, which was frankly pretty stupid considering I basically cornered myself against the cold wall while he moved closer.
"Mm," he hummed, spooning me while I tried not to hyperventilate. "You'd think after telling me you love me and then calling me someone else's name I'd get a good morning kiss at least."
Shit, I'm so fucked right now. I had to have called him Carlisle.
Carlisle. He's married. I freaked him out. What if I never see him again?
"Listen," he said, planting a kiss on the back of my neck. "I know you were drunk last night." Another kiss. "I knew it when you called me." Another kiss. "I know you probably don't remember much, if anything, that happened either time between us." More kisses. "I know I probably have taken advantage of you, since you were obviously wasted off your ass both times we've been together." More, more, and more kisses. "But I want you to know that you can call me anytime you need me." More kisses, ranging from my shoulders to my hairline. "You're a great fuck, I can't exactly tell you no." Even more kisses, these ones right behind me ear as he nuzzles into my hair to whisper to me. "So anytime, Edward. You have my number. Call me and I'll be glad to come over."
He surprised me by releasing me completely and rolling out of bed. I curled into myself, bringing the blanket up over my head, hoping like hell I'd just disappear. It didn't work because about three minutes later the bed shifted and the blanket was yanked off of me, strong arms rolled me onto my back, and muscular legs were on either side of my torso. I clenched my eyes shut so tight I thought my brain would explode from the pressure.
"You can at least fucking look at me," he said, taking offense at my behavior.
I clenched and released my jaw several times, mulling over the pros and cons of opening my eyes. I finally decided it couldn't hurt, I could show him that small sign of respect.
A small gasp escaped me as I looked at him, really for the first time―not asleep, not a blurred, distant memory. He's... Well, fuck, he's frankly pretty fucking beautiful. Unfortunately, he's not at all what I'm looking for, as he's not an unattainable, older married man.
"I know, I'm pretty fucking attractive after a night of drunken sex," he spoke through a dimpled smirk. He grew more serious then, leaning down and resting his weight on his hands against my biceps, effectively pinning me to the mattress. "Whatever it is that drove you to getting so fucking plowed, and then so fucking plowed," he added pointedly with a chuckle, "it's probably not worth it. Whoever that guy is that's getting to you this way, forget him. And don't be ashamed for getting fucked. You really should try it sober once, it's much better when you can remember the pleasure and not feel just the pain the next morning." He leaned down too quick for me to react, catching me a lingering kiss―that was more awkward than anything for me. Pulling back, he released my arms and slapped my cheek lightly. "Be proud of who you are, Eddie. Thanks for the fuck."
He left after that, rendering me dumbstruck and gobsmacked. Distantly, foggily, I heard the front door open and close, then the sound of a vehicle starting and pulling away. I closed my eyes, praying for more sleep to come, to wake up and have this all been a nightmare. Of course, the moment my eyes closed, my alarm clock blared that it's time for me to get up and get ready for work.
I scrubbed my hand over my face and forced myself to roll out of bed. I flicked the alarm off, ending the horrendous sound that was making my head pound, and then glanced down into my garbage can. I was relieved that there was at least evidence of safely practiced intercourse right at the top, but completely shocked to find not just one condom wrapper, but three used rubbers. Two of them appeared thoroughly used, while another simply looked torn apart. I didn't even want to know...
I pulled the bag from the can, tying it up to discard of the proof immediately. I showered as long as I possibly could given I had to be to work before we opened and painstakingly cleansed myself, trying to rid my body of the night before. I wished my body would forget what my mind couldn't remember, it would make the already doomed day slightly more bearable.
Alas, I had to crunch up a couple of children's aspirin, because for some reason, that was all I had―orange flavored too, yuck. I was running late by the time I was ready to go, but Bella knew how to open up. Mornings were never busy.
It was a fairly small public library, it's much larger counterpart sat more towards the center of town. Bella and I were not long out of college when we were both hired. Both of us are comparatively motivated considering most our age do what I did the night before on a daily basis. Neither of us party hard, we enjoy what we do, and we both are respectful and bright. With the guidance of one old snarly witch of a librarian by the name of Mrs. Cope, Bella and I mostly run the small library on our own.
I knew Bella planned to go back to college after a while to receive a teaching credit to be a school librarian. As for myself, I hadn't a clue. I chose library science because it sounded interesting considering my love of reading and I could afford the two-year course, but now... It's growing tedious. I missed the outdoors and the sun, both of which Seattle offered in only limited doses―unless you liked being sodden and cold under constant cloud cover and drizzle.
I parked rather sloppily next to a trendy black car that I didn't recognize and attempted to rush into work, so not to be late, but the children's aspirin wasn't doing an effective job of easing my troubled behind―or my mind for that matter.
Bella was behind the desk with a knowing smirk when I came rushing through the doors. I hoped my expression said what I was thinking, save it. I didn't want to hear what she had to say about my late arrival, obvious disarray, or funny looking waddle.
Movement in my peripherals drew my eyes right and I gasped as I saw one very familiar―wholly unexpected at this hour―man rising to his feet. His face was apologetic, remorseful even, as he stared me down. My feet faltered, dragging to a sudden halt as his lips tightened to a thin line and my eyes moved to his. Harder, and icier blue than I'd ever seen them, he held my gaze. I shuddered at the coldness and wondered if my pupils dilated every time this happened.
Part of my brain thought, Oh, here we go again. Brace yourself. While the rest of me embraced the wild, lusting, unfathomable, desirous fantasy.
There we were, on that tainted table, myself face down and bent over as my irate, demanding lover forced his way into my body. Teeth nipped, lips sucked, fingers dug, bones smacked, leaving angry bruises as he marked me as his, solidifying that I was his, and only his. Signifying that I shouldn't have ever doubted I could be anyone more than his. He owned me, now and forever, and the pleasure of that painful knowledge was deliciously good.
Deliriously, I pressed on, wondering what in the world he was doing here, but more concerned about what I had done now to cause such an emotional reaction from him. I continued toward Bella, forcing my eyes forward and only glancing over when the loud thud of a book connecting with the wood tabletop startled me. His feet moved quickly, scuffing deafeningly across the short piled carpet.
Then he moved right past me, displacing the air and sending it billowing all around me. Without thought, I inhaled deeply, drawing in the spice of his aftershave, the earth of his cologne, the musk of his masculinity. And just like that, it was over, he was gone; I was left high, intoxicated as always be his mere presence―or, currently, the alcohol that hadn't yet left my system.
"You're in trouble," Bella lilted in a laughing way, giving me a healthy dose of reality.
"Yes, I know, I'm late," I grumbled back at her, scooting around the corner of the desk to deposit my messenger bag.
Bella chortled in a way that one could only consider as evil. "That you are, Edward, but being late is not what I was talking about." She approached me, surprising me as she wrapped her arms around my neck with intimidating intimacy, drawing herself close. "I'm extremely happy for you to have been bedded, but Mr. Cullen is very disappointed in you, dear boy." She kissed my cheek, then continued to chortle as she practically skipped away.
That's what that was about? But how could he tell? How could Bella tell for that matter? Am I really walking that funny?
"Don't worry, the only people who would catch on are the ones who watch you closely and the ones who know your pain," Bella appeased, somewhat less laughingly, though she still appeared much too amused for my peace of mind.
Carlisle's table―our table―sat empty the entire day. Everyone avoided it, choosing tables with easier access and overall better location instead. It was the first day in as long as I cared to remember that he didn't come in at his normal time to mindfuck me.
Then there was the issue of his book. It just sat there, forgotten but so entirely at the front of my mind. Did he leave it on purpose? What shall I do with it? Will he come back for it? Will he come back at all? Was he finished? Was he not? Could I touch it?
By the end of the day, I'd grown weary and weak. That book sitting there was all I could think about at all... It was Carlisle truly that was all I could think about at all, but that book was linked to him.
When I was confident that Bella was rather too busy to pay me any mind, I snuck off to see what exactly the book was all about. With overeager, impatient fingers, I grasped the book off the table, then froze, wondering what exactly I was supposed to do now. I'd thought it would come to me after laying my fingers where his had been, but I had no idea where to go from here.
I put the book back down, staring at it speculatively. There was a piece of paper stuck between some pages and I brushed my fingers over it longingly. I couldn't possibly take the bookmark out, that would be unethical, reprehensible from one book lover to another. But I could at least open the book, just to see.
I could, but would I? What if he came back for the book only to discover I had altogether invaded his precious privacy? What if he never came back? The book would have to be checked out of his name, put back on the shelf. What then?
I impulsively gripped the book, flipping it open to the saved page. I gasped at what I found there.
On the small scrap of paper were several jumbles of words. Tiny notes, scribbled words, and among them, my name.
Edward, wrote nearly reverently, a million times at least on the small leaf of paper.
Too young. Too beautiful. Too good. I can't. I won't. I want.
Then, Esme, my beautiful wife. My love. My life. My heart. Taken.
His wife...
I blinked several times, trying to clear my head―and my suddenly misty eyes. He was married, he loved his wife, but he... wanted me. How he even learned my name was unbeknownst to me. Perhaps he'd heard Bella say it―or perhaps the meddling little witch flat out told him.
Underneath the small divulging thoughts was a larger note, I had to squint to make it out with all the other words covering it.
Edward, it started neatly, Please forgive me for my behavior. It's very difficult for me to discuss my wife. As painful as it is for me to say it, I am no longer married. Carlisle, he finished simply.
Back the truck up, not married? But he still addressed her as his 'wife'. Wait... painful? Oh, no.
I leaned my head down and gripped my hair. "Stupid, stupid. What have you done?" I hissed at myself.
Through blurry eyes I looked over the whole note again. 'Taken'. She's dead. His wife was dead, and I'd brought that all back up for him with my one very insensitive question.
So kind. So lovely. So wrong. So depraved.
He deserves more. He should find someone to love. He needs more. He is too good for me, worthy of true love.
I shouldn't want him. I wreak of sin. He shouldn't want me. I do not deserve his innocent love.
His eyes. His hair. His skin. His face. His lips. His body. His beautiful, hard body.
Evil. Wrong. Can't.
Edward. Edward. Edward.
Esme.
Christ, he was more confused than I was. I couldn't even imagine how this was tormenting him. I couldn't even fathom how he was talking himself out of it. It seemed clear to me that he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him, which was shocking news in itself, and the only thing stopping me was the fact that up until that point I didn't know there was any reciprocation, and my frustrating inability to speak to him.
He was undeniably at a loss, irresolute, and this... thing that was between us was nothing short of complex and chaotic. I think he knew damn well he could have me, it appeared he even wanted me, but it would seem he felt undeserving.
He obviously loved his wife, and that was our biggest problem; he was married to her even in death. I sure didn't disparage him for that. Genuine love, real true love lasts forever, no matter what.
And with that thought, I decided that if he wanted to discover his feelings for me, I would be willing. I would wait for him, if he ever returned. If and when he did, I would talk to him, like an adult, and we could find where this was going.
– – –
I never expected him to return so quickly. It was the next day he showed up and I was more nervous than a hen in a fox den.
But I told myself I would do this, that I could, and I went to him, pulling the chair across from him out and sitting down.
"Hello," he offered quietly.
Oh, shit, I can't do this. My mouth opened and only the tiniest of squeaks came out.
"I know you speak, I've heard you talk quite freely to the friendly brunette. Let's not forget you have also spoke to me before, so out with it," he urged firmly.
Angry, I snapped my eyes up to his, then panicked again, because looking into those pale blue eyes never failed to pitch me into a world unknown where the only thing that mattered was lust.
I quickly moved my eyes back down, demanding my brain to study the wood grains, uncover the pattern of their swirls, and it sort of worked. Only glimpses of teeth and bare skin and pink tongues on intimate parts flashed through my mind, allowing me to quickly picture my grandma Irina in a teeny polka dot bikini, quelling the lustful thoughts.
"You were angry with me," I forced myself to say, passing up pleasantries for fear that I might only have a limited time to speak.
"I wasn't angry with you. I don't even know you, this is only the first time we've really spoke," he replied lightly.
The first part seemed false, but the rest of his statement was right on, of course. It was too easily forgotten that I didn't know him when I spent ninety percent of my time thinking of him. It was easy to forget that all the conversations we've had were imaginary and all the nights―and days―were nothing more than fantasies.
Well, I supposed, if I really want to know him, I should be able to look him in the eye.
Steeling myself, I slowly raised my eyes to his.
It was like being hit by a freight train.
Lust and various states of undress. Pale skin and plush lips. Moaned words and sweat-darkened hair. White teeth and possessive marks. Thrusting hips and screamed orgasms.
"Are you alright?"
No.
I cleared my throat, dropping one hand inconspicuously into my lap. "Yes."
Through my jeans, I squeezed my erection. At first, I didn't do it quite hard enough which simply felt good, but eventually I tightened my grip until I coughed at the pain.
"You're sure you're alright?" he asked.
Staring him squarely in the eye, and hoping I wasn't cringing in pain, I nodded. "I'm fine."
I took several deep breaths, keeping my eyes on his before I spoke again. I wanted to be sure this would last, and for now, it seemed the pain was keeping me here―as much as I enjoyed spinning into the otherworld, I needed to be present and alert for a conversation.
"I'm Edward Masen," I said, reaching my free hand cautiously over the table.
He smiled brightly. "It's wonderful to finally meet you," he replied, placing his palm flat against mine.
If I thought looking into his eyes was a freight train of fantasies, skin on skin contact was an anvil to my head.
The hand in mine tightened, pulling me easily across the table. Soft mouths moved roughly over each other, tongues pressed, teeth bit. Our eyes remained locked as clothing was torn to shreds leaving us bare as we could go. Strong hands gripped my cock, tugging almost painfully until I was guided to the position he wanted me. There was no teasing. Straight to the point, my knees were over his shoulder and his length was drove in deep to my core. Despite there being nothing tender about the way he moved, something in his eyes wouldn't let me look away and I felt...
I tore my eyes from his, jumping up and away from the table, ripping my hand from his. "I'm sorry, excuse me," I gasped, then made no move to go.
Breathing heavy, dazed, I stood there staring at him while he stared blatantly at my crotch. My hand still on my crotch. My hand still choking my beast of an erection to be quite explicit.
Oh, shit!
"I'm sorry," I choked out, finally removing my stupid hand from my stupid crotch and hauling my stupid ass away from that disaster of a scene, darting toward the bathroom.
Safely locked away in a bathroom stall, I clutched my hair in my hands and pulled, silently screaming bloody murder. I didn't think it was actually possible to die of humiliation, but at that moment, it surely felt like it―I hoped for it.
He had to think I was some kind of pervert, rubbing myself under the table like a fucking fiend. Now he surely would never speak to me again. What the hell was wrong with me, and what in fuck's sake was it about him that made me act this way?
I heard the door creak open and I hurriedly pulled my feet up and out of view, inhaling sharply as I heard someone hesitantly approaching, I held the breath.
"Edward?"
I sighed, hearing not the male timbre of Carlisle but Bella's sweet, albeit annoying at the present moment, voice. I didn't vocally respond to her at all, though I did relax slightly at her unwelcome company. At least she wasn't Carlisle.
"Sweetie, are you okay?" she asked softly.
I pretended not to hear her. Knowing Bella, she'd stand there all night.
"Do you need anything?"
I snapped at her, not wanting to listen to this for next God knows how long. "Bella, I have a fucking boner the size of Texas right now, will you go the hell away so I can get rid of it or would you like to come in here and take care of it yourself?"
There was a sharp inhale that I knew damn well wasn't Bella's, and then I saw the butt ass ugly loafers next to Bella's Converses and groaned in frustration. "Shit," I hissed.
Bella snickered. "I, uh, think I'll just get back to the patrons who need me."
The door creaked then slammed and there was complete silence while I again held my breath. Carlisle shifted his weight and the squeak his shoe made was like a fucking air horn in the dead silence. I pretended I didn't hear it.
"Edward," Carlisle said softly, finally breaking the silence. "It's nothing at all to be embarrassed about. I also have a boner the size of Texas right now."
I could have laughed at how awkward he sounded saying that out loud. It wasn't placating in the slightest. It seemed like a lie to me―but just in case, I cataloged those words for later.
"You aren't hurting yourself, are you?" he asked fearfully.
What? Where the hell did that come from? I made no sound of answer.
"Please answer me," he demanded frantically.
"No, I'm not suicidal," I spat, perhaps too harshly and sardonically. I don't really handle stress well, and honestly, I considered this one of the most stressful days of my life.
He sighed audibly. "But, before, you didn't seem to be treating yourself very kindly. Your knuckles were practically white with how hard..." he trailed off. "You're not hurting yourself that way either, are you?"
"No," I answered blankly.
"Will you please open the door?" he begged. I went back to ignoring him. He asked very nicely multiple times, but I really wanted to be alone in my shame. Unfortunately, our bathroom had cheap flimsy locks and he pulled out a credit card and flipped the lock up.
Hurriedly pushing the door open, he quickly looked me over, then sighed, a great look of relief on his face, and also a terrible pain in his eyes.
I didn't even want to think what that meant.
He shut the bathroom door behind him, locking himself in with me, and I moved my eyes to the floor. He didn't say a word, just stood there, though I could feel his eyes on me.
The silence shattered again when his shoe squeaked as he slowly closed the two steps between us. "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself before, I'm Carlisle Cullen," he said calmly, stretching his hand out to me.
We both damn well knew that I knew exactly who he was. I've been practically stalking him from a distance for months. An hour each day was devoted to simply watching him, and I'd learned a great deal. His name was among the first things, I somehow don't think he was oblivious to that. Instead of painfully awkward moments spent telling me I was fine and normal―though I was clearly not―he seemed to be skipping to a slightly less awkward tactic of 'let's forget that ever happened and start over.'
I couldn't be rude to him when he was showing me respect and great kindness―even if not privacy. I stood up in the cramped space, reaching out the short distance to shake his hand once again.
Skin on fucking skin, it took my breath away.
I tried to pull my hand back, but he wouldn't let me and I made the stupid mistake of looking into his eyes.
It was like tailspinning out of control, like jumping from bridge, like speeding down a dirt road. I didn't really know exactly what was happening, but I wanted it to stop and at the same time, I wanted it to last forever. My head felt like it was going to explode with the onslaught of dirty thoughts running through it.
There was so much, it was hard to focus. Just as soon as my mind would settle on something, it would shift to something entirely different. Always nude, always sexual, sometimes intimate, other times just demanding and selfish. Mouths all over each other, touching everyway, hands used to bind and constrict and caress and pleasure, groin to ass and groin to face and groin to groin and ass to face. It didn't even matter, it was all the same while being entirely different. It was all an angel and his demon, it was all us.
When the vision started to blur, I again tried to pull my hand away, feeling a tug on my arm. His hand remained tight on mine, and the tug persisted, bringing my closer. Through the fog, I swore I saw him staring down at me, leaning in toward me. But no, he wouldn't, he... this... it wasn't real.
The wet and soft I felt on my jaw line wasn't real. The movement of lips and tongue, then teeth and bone, it wasn't real. It was imagined, even though it felt so entirely real. It'd never felt so real, but it couldn't be. The body I felt moving closer to mine wasn't there, it wasn't really his chest pressing against mine.
Letting my eyes fall closed, suddenly it was real. The brush of hot and hard against my hip was real. The palm in mine was real. The lips on my throat were real, as was the hand pressing against my jaw and neck. The bathroom stall that surrounded us was real and the way I felt was real.
Carlisle was sucking on my throat.
Oh, God.
If it was possible for my breathing to grow any heavier, it did in that moment. If there was any way at all for my pants to grow impossibly tighter and more pain full, it happened then. If I could question my sanity any more than I already was, I did so right at that point.
"Stop?" I rasped skeptically.
After one last sweep of his tongue, he pulled back. I didn't really want him to stop, but I had to be sure this was real. I met his eyes, watched him lick his lips, then raised my fingers to my neck to feel the slight moisture he'd left behind. This was definitely real.
I stepped toward him, raising my hand toward his face, and he backed away. Puzzled, I voiced my thoughts. "Kiss me, for real."
Pained eyes diverted from mine, and his palm, which had up until this point been in mine, pulled away. "I can't," he whispered.
Just like that, he was gone.
And oh, it was real. It hurt. It was nothing like my fantasies where slow, timid kisses would have turned sloppy and sure. No hands roamed and pulled clothes off. No angelic man pinned me to a wall―or table―and showed me the meaning of life.
That's what made it real.
– – –
Carlisle didn't exactly disappear from my life, but he made a point of avoiding me from that day on. He still came in daily, but I learned quickly that I was no reason for that. I never had been.
If he caught my eye, he would be sure to look away before I even had the chance to register it. The capricious unrealistic daydreams stopped altogether and oddly, I felt hollow without them. I felt empty without him.
It was frankly fucking stupid because I knew better than to get involved with someone like him. He was complicated. I hated complicated. I wanted easy and straightforward, which he would never be. I wanted what he couldn't offer me, I wanted significant and unashamed, like my fantasies.
That was why I called Jasper. It was why we went on a date. It was why I decided that I didn't like easy all that much, because simplicity lacked a certain importance. But I didn't decide that after dinner, I didn't even decide that after drinks, I didn't decide that after he took my hand and asked to kiss me. I let him kiss me, and I let myself enjoy it, but it wasn't enough. It was too easy. But I didn't decide that even after we fumbled into my house or after we fumbled out of clothes or even after we made it to the bed and his fingers fumbled their way inside of my body.
No, I decided after he was already poised to enter me. I decided when he tenderly pressed forward and started to enter me, kissing my slight pain away. I decided after I refused to look at him and kiss him back as he slowly moved in me. But I didn't say anything. At least not until my mind conjured images of another man.
Jasper stopped moving when that man's name slipped through my lips. I didn't apologize, I didn't try to take it back. Jasper pulled out of me, and I didn't regret it.
I didn't regret it until I was face down on the bed, roughly being taken from behind, but I had no apologies and I wouldn't take it back because it was exactly what I deserved. Jasper made no move to make sure I enjoyed myself, nor did I, and as soon as he was finished, he dressed and left. Thanking me for the fuck, though he spit it out like foul-tasting drink.
I didn't sleep at all, knowing he'd left me exactly the same as I'd made him feel. Used. It was nothing less than exactly what I had coming to me.
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