~This was pulled from fanfic.net, so I'm posting it here for the time being. Damn the man.~
A/N: I'm supposed to be working ... wrote this instead. Fun and fluff - enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight; all respective characters belong to SMeyer.
I bring my work home with me every day. Every. Single. Day. This has mostly to do with the fact that I work from home, but still one would expect a cut off point at a some time during the day. Five o’clock sounds reasonable. It’s about 9:15 now. Not reasonable.
Even still, working from home sounds like a sweet deal to the average person. Currently I’m sitting in black cotton undies (it’s laundry day and all of my jammie pants are in the wash,) no bra, and the softest, grey, cotton tee I own - and I’m “at work“. Heaven right? Sure … except to my right is my husband, lounging back in the crook of the couch channel surfing and completely ignoring the feet that are resting purposefully in his lap.
I slant my eyes at him wondering if he’s spitefully ignoring them, or is just seriously that aloof to his wife’s need for a foot rub. Then I glance down at his socked feet, the socks stuck to his toes from sweat in a way that still shows the impressions from his work boots, and I decide I won’t push the issue.
Exhaling a sigh, my focus turns back to my computer screen. The cursor blinks against the white background of Word, laughing at me with every beat. You’re not done. Two hundred more words to go. Na na na-na-na!
I’d like to be done, I’d like to be laying back staring at the television and allowing my mind to go completely numb. But I have to finish this piece on the local bakery/coffee house that opened last week by tomorrow. For the most part I write about all types of things; I’m a freelance writer and I get work where ever I can. But in the last two months I’ve been writing weekly for the local paper.
Originally they hired me to write a short blurb on Mike’s, an old dive that was resurrected from the dead and supposed to be ’the place to be’ since it re-opened its doors. Sam, the paper’s editor, used words like ‘impressed’ and ‘very nice’ when I turned in my work, and I was admittedly a little giddy, despite the fact that I wanted to be writing anything but restaurant reviews. Like I said - I take whatever I can get, so since then they’ve kept me busy with weekly assignments.
I do enjoy the fact that my research consists of going into a place and stuffing food into my face, although my waistline is not a fan. The downside is there are only so many ways you can describe food and how yummy it is. Currently, my mind is running through a flurry of adjectives to describe the bakery’s double chocolate-chocolate chip cookies that I’d had thirds of earlier in the day. They were delicious, but that doesn’t do it justice, I need something better. And I can’t very-well put ’orgasmic’ … can I? No. No, I can’t. Too bad.
Shrugging to myself, I bite into my bottom lip and tilt my head from side to side; my clavicle emits a loud crack; immediately releasing tension there. The couch shifts causing me to sink deeper into the cushion as my husband leans into my shoulder to peek at my laptop.
“Decadent,” he says with a satisfied smile like he’s solved world hunger in one single word.
“Decadent? Really?”
He nods and blinks back as if to say ‘is there a problem’.
“Edward I can’t say decadent, that would be too obvious,” I groan into my palm, pushing my glasses up with my fingers and rubbing them into my eyes. “Chocolate … the good kind … is almost always followed by decadent. I need something different.”
“Mmmhmm,” he hums, his deep voice buzzes along my skin; his lips are pressed against my neck. I hadn’t even noticed until he did that, now it tickles. I squirm away, but the computer is plugged in and balanced haphazardly on my lap, it teeters, and I grab it unable to move further away.
He laughs and runs his fingers through my hair. “I have to work,” I say matter-of-factly, turning my eyes back to my article.
“Come on Bells, lets do it.” The way he drawls out do it makes him sound like a twelve-year-old. I roll my eyes.
“No.”
Now I really don’t want to be working. God damn him. I want to say yes. I want him to rip my clothes off and lick every crevice of my body until I forget where I live, that I have to breathe, and that my arms and legs have the ability to move.
There is a secret grumble that comes from him, but I hear it as he kisses my cheek and pretends to be okay with our shitty sex life. We used to have an envy-inducing sex life. The kind that you’d only read about or see in a really good porno.
We were teenagers then and life was so much slower and easier. Now we’re married, now we’re almost thirty, now we have two kids, and a house payment, and a car payment, and a dog named Jasper.
Jasper lifts his head like he’s read my mind, tilting it to the side. I glance down to where he’s flopped out in the middle of the floor as if no one will ever need to walk through that area. I shake my head no. No treat, I think and I swear to God he huffs and drops his head back to the carpet in defeat. Pour dog, can’t even be bothered to beg anymore, although it’s a bit disconcerting that he has apparently picked up the ability to read minds.
Tension seems to be seizing every muscle in my body. I envision tiny tension monsters slinking under my skin, pulling tightly on my muscles. Bastards. Setting my laptop on the coffee table, I step over the taut cord and shuffle into the kitchen. My head is deep in the refrigerator when Edward’s voice startles me. “Whatchyadoin?”
“Jesus,” I wheeze, shooting upright before I’ve cleared the fridge completely and smack my head on the freezer door handle. “Shit!” Rubbing the dome of my head I whimper; it’s extremely tender to the touch and I know there will be a lump in the morning. “Giving myself a concussion,” I mumble.
Edward crosses his arms against his chest, leaning into the counter. No worries, I’m okay, thanks for asking. “Quit creeping around the house,” I shoot at him, cradling the bottle I came for in my arms.
“I wasn’t creeping, it’s not my fault you’re completely unobservant,” he smirks in his way; I can’t help but smirk back.
Pushing up onto the tips of my toes, I stretch out as far as I can to reach a wine glass, which is in the highest possible spot in our cupboards for some reason. I can feel his eyes on me as I plunge a corkscrew into the wine bottle and twist it down. There is something all-together satisfying about popping the cork on a bottle of wine.
“What are you doing?” He asks, insinuation dripping from his question.
I pause, turning my body towards him. “Pouring myself a glass of wine.”
His brows dip in confusion, his eyes going from the bottle in my fingers and back to my face. “Since when do you drink wine … and why do we even have a bottle in the house?”
Now, truth be told, I am not a wine drinker. Historically I haven’t been able to stand the stuff. Hard liquor - bring it on all day long; beer and wine I generally pass on. That’s not to say his question doesn’t annoy the hell out of me. I’m a grown ass-woman, and if I want a glass of wine I’m going to have one. What I don’t need is the face he’s currently giving me.
Quirking a brow, I grip the corkscrew in my hand tightly. “I do so like wine,” I lie. “And this happened to be on sale at the grocery store so I picked up a bottle. It’s useful for cooking, and anyway, I can have some if I want some.” I complain.
Great, way to sound like the grown-ass woman that you are B. Way to go. I waited quietly for him to shout that he was gonna go tell my mom, ‘cause that’s how this conversation was going. Instead, he frowns down at the bottle and shrugs.
I don’t get it; he’s never taken issue with me drinking, ever. “What?” I all but shout.
“I just…” He stops, considering his words for a moment. “I just don’t think you should get into that is all.”
“Get into what?”
“Having a glass of wine to ‘unwind’ at night. Before you know it it’ll be all the time. You’ll need it.”
Oh hell no. Did he just suggest that my pouring of one glass of wine will result in me being an alcoholic. What … I can’t even … What?! My mind spins in equal parts irritation and outrage. Infuriated, I lift the corkscrew I’m gripping and stab his right eye with it. I laugh.
“Bella?”
“Huh? My eyes snap to his, effectively shaking me of my gory daydream.
“Is that funny?”
Oh. I actually did laugh out loud. Well… “Yeah, actually. Yes it is. You just foreshadowed my becoming an alcoholic because I’m pouring myself one glass of wine. For the first time ever. Ev-er, Edward. In eleven years of marriage, this is the first time. And unless you suspect that I’ve been hiding bottles of,” I glance down at the label. “…Bella Sera wine under our bed then this is funny. So I laugh.”
His eyes go wide. I think he’s realizing how much he’s stepped in it. Placing the corkscrew, which has left impressions against my palm, onto the counter, I gingerly bring the wine glass to my lips and watch him fumble words of explanation.
“Bella, I know you’re not an alcoholic, and I wasn’t saying that you are going to become one. I just … I think it’s total shit people who need that kind of thing to relax, and I don’t know, this is weird. You never drink wine, so it felt off, I had to say something. Would you stop slurping that … stop looking at me like that. Did you … did you really buy a bottle of wine named after yourself?”
“No!” I scoff.
His lips part into a smile, his ironic laugh dances into the air. “Yeah you did.”
“I - I. Maybe.” So what? “If you stumbled on a bottle of beer that was named Edward you’d buy it.”
“Not likely. I don’t succumb so easily to cheep marketing schemes.” He pokes.
“Please, it’s Italian. It means beautiful… something-or-other.” I can already feel the wine in my toes. That’s where alcohol usually hits me first. They have become fizzy and bubbly feeling. It makes me giggle.
Edward steps forward, his smell engulfing me as he does. I breathe in deep, closing my eyes. The sound of the fridge door shutting causes me to open them. He’s put the wine away already. Going for another sip, I realize the glass is empty. Boo.
“I think one’s enough,” he whispers in my ear sending chills down my spine. I smile lazily.
It hits me then that wine makes me happy. I’ve never given it a chance, but now I’m wishing that I did sooner. I can tell you this - liquor does not make me feel this way. My tolerance is much too high and it takes a lot to affect me, and once it does it’s a slurry, tipsy, slow, drunken feeling. But this, this is a light feeling.
I feel cheerful, floaty, and … oh. Oh. That I feel, that - Edward’s nose behind my ear. Edwards lips on my neck. How did my hands get into his hair? I must have grabbed him when he was whispering, that’s okay, this is nice. Very nice. Horny. Wine makes me horny. WHY AM I JUST NOW FIGURING THIS OUT. I tip my head back and giggle in euphoria at the discovery.
Hooking my leg onto his hip, I pull him closer; our lips collide hungrily. My god, I am already wet, I can feel it. That is insane. Edward’s mouth is insane right now. I haven’t felt this turned on so quickly since that time we did it on a train. Relax, it was a sleeper car - but it was a-mazing. I highly recommend it if you have the opportunity. That was pre-kids, pre-life really. That was a hazy time of fun and care-free happiness.
My ass is being pressed against the counter. I can’t stop the moans that are coming from some hidden place inside me. Even drunk I would be embarrassed by it normally, but this bubbly feeling only makes it funny to me. I have a quick flash of the scene of Charlie and the chocolate factory when Charlie and his Uncle drink the soda and float to the ceiling. Pulling away I check to see if my feet are still on the ground. They’re not, I’m sitting on the counter now.
Edward’s fingers hold firmly against my waist. I appreciate for the first time in a long time how strong his hands feel against me. Pushing him back I pant out a “stop, wait.”
He grasps my wrists, licking his lips. A tuft of wavy auburn hair has fallen against his forehead. Running my fingers through it, I push it back into place and dig my nails into his scalp. His eyes fall closed as he purrs in satisfaction. When they open again they are full of a primal lust that warms his irises and makes me want to press my thighs together.
“Go upstairs,” I breathe heavily.
He looks wounded for a split-second. “I’ll be right there,” I say quickly, running my fingers along my swollen lips.
Edward grins, grabbing my face and brushing his mouth against mine delicately. “Hurry,” he whispers, before turning and heading up the stairs two at a time.
I waste no time, springing from the counter, I slide against the hardwood floor almost tripping against the rug and then Jasper; I take three stutter steps to regain my balance and glare at the dog. A puff of air escapes his lungs, billowing out his jowls in an exasperated effort.
Pausing, I bend and scruff his ears, giving him an extra good scratch. I love the damn dog, even if he does dominate the entire throw rug with his bulbous form. His tail slams against the dense carpet with a loud thud thud thud.
After a moment of expressing love to my dog, I flop down on the sofa to save my article. I can bang out 200 words in the morning before the deadline. Bang out. Yeah .. I’m gonna bang something out… ha ha ha. Wine also makes me think like a ten-year-old. So what.
Logging out, I flip the screen down and store my laptop in it’s case, sliding it beside the couch. I all but run into the kitchen, grab the bottle of wine from the fridge, uncork it and take a huge swig straight from the bottle. It goes down smoothly and I smile at the instant bouncy feeling that fills me.
I find myself chanting we’re gonna do it - we’re gonna do it, as I skip up the steps and run full speed into our bedroom. Flying through the air, I slam down on the bed, jarring Edward who is under the covers, which have been pulled up to his chin. I laugh at the sight of him.
“Jesus Bella, what’d they put in that wine, speed?”
“I dunno.” I chuckle, undeterred from my happy state.
His eyes narrow. “You had more didn’t you?”
Lifting onto my knees, I straddle him and roll my eyes. “Maybe. I can’t remember. Hey why are you all covered?” I tug at the duvet which Edward has locked between his fingers. “Whatcha got under there Mister?”
“Not any wine, sorry.”
I smack his hip but laugh anyway. “Fine be that way.” Scooting forward, I press my knees on either side of his shoulders so he is pinned under the blanket.
“What are you doing?” He asks suddenly serious.
I supply him a mock-frown. “Nothing…” Slowly, I peel my shirt from my torso, letting the light fabric linger at my breasts. Edward’s eyes are glued to me; he’s completely frozen. I pull the shirt over my head in a final sweeping motion, throwing it across the room.
Edward immediately starts squirming to free his hands. “Ah, ah, ah,” I admonish, pressing my knees harder into the mattress. Gently I run my fingers along his nose, under his eyes, then outline his jaw. Leaning in, I follow the path of my fingers with my lips, planting feather light kisses against his skin.
I can feel is fingers under the covers, brushing against my hardened nipples, trying to feel. The sensation, even through fabric sends fiery waves down my limbs. The bubbly feeling in my toes has become a rolling boil and it’s simmering at my skin.
“Too bad you wanted to be covered,” I breathe into his cheek. His mouth searches for whatever skin it can come in contact with in his restricted state. My cheek, my nose, my lips. Grabbing our headboard, I pull my body forward, brushing my breast along his lips. His tongue shoots out and circles my nipple, we both moan at the same time.
“Shit Bells, that’s so hot,” he mutters softly, I almost don’t hear him but the haughty, wanting tenor of his words vibrates through my core.
Eventually my strength gives as my things begin to quiver. Edward works his hands free; he grips my breasts, rolling them in his hands before he devours them with his mouth. I’m in the dominant position, but he’s completely controlling my body right now.
Digging my fingernails into the wooden headboard, my head falls back as I arch my back. My hips move on their own accord; my underwear are completely soaked. I can feel how hard he is under the covers and I’m pretty sure he’s naked under there. I can see part of his bare chest when I’m able to force my eyes open, but for the most part they want to stay closed and soak up every sensation of what he is doing to me right now.
Suddenly I hear a door creak open, then the familiar light padding of feet shuffle down the hall. Edward shoots up. “The door,” he gasps, effectively tossing me from the bed. I try to catch myself on the wall, but fail miserably and tumble to the floor.
“Daddy?” I hear our youngest’s small, sleepy voice break through the tension in the air.
“What is it baby girl?”
“Can I lay in your bed - where’s mommy? I thought I heard her voice,” Annie asks innocently.
“Um, she -” Edward swallows audibly. “She was up here, she went back downstairs to work. Annie honey, we’ve talked about this. You’re almost five-years-old, you’re a big girl now you need to sleep in your bed.”
Annie sighs, I can picture her little shoulders slumping. I can’t actually see her because I’m wedged between the wall and the bed, but I know what pouty face she’s making too. “Okay Daddy, I love you, night.”
“Love you too baby girl, sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams,” Annie repeats like she does every night, which always makes me smile.
A few seconds later Edward’s head hags over the side of the bed. “Oh. My. God.” He stage-whispers. “That … was awkward.”
I fight to push myself from the floor, my body already cramping from my strange position. “Yeah, awkward,” I repeat motioning to where I was.
“Well at least all you had to do was lay there. You didn’t have to talk to your daughter with a pillow in your lap.”
My attention is then drawn to his lap, where he has indeed piled not one, but two pillows. I clap my hand over my mouth to cover the explosion of giggles.
“It’s not funny,” he huffs, but he’s fighting a smile.
“I point at his lap, unable to hold back the laughter. “I don’t think that’s a two pillow job honey.”
He glowers at me before slapping my ass - hard; shutting me the hell up. “Owe!”
“You deserved that.”
“Yeah, probably” I agree as he pulls me into his lap.
“Where did all that come from anyway?” He asks with a smile in his voice, nuzzling into my neck.
“Oh Mr. Cullen, if you only knew half the shit that runs through my mind that I’d like to do to you…”
He pulls me back, eyes wide. “Holy shit Bella.”
I shrug, it’s true, I just don’t normally have time, or the energy to carry it out. Not to mention I’d be seriously embarrassed if he knew the kinds of things I think of doing. He’s staring at me now as if I’m going to give him a run down of all those things.
My cheeks pink at the thought of saying anything out loud. But his eyes are boring into me. Say it, they beg. Out loud.
“I can’t!” I burst into laughter, doubling over.
He flops back onto the pillows with a groan. “Isabella you are driving me crazy.”
The use of my full name does something to my insides. I’m reminded of one our first dates. It was one of the first times we’d made out; things got a little hot and heavy and I slid into his lap. He’d grabbed my arms tightly and growled my full name. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.
Sitting up, I run my hands down his arms. “Go close the door,” I purr.
He pulls his eyes from the ceiling, takes in my expression and doesn’t say another word. He’s out of bed, and back again before I can even shift my position, and yes he was completely naked under those covers.
We kneel in front of each other and roam one another’s bodies with light touches. My mouth wanders along his shoulder, I count freckles with my lips. He slips my underwear down my legs as I lay back against the mattress.
He leans back, appraising me in with his eyes, gently considering where to touch next. A soft smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Beautiful night,” he mumbles.
“What?”
“That’s what Bella Sera means.”
“Oh.”
He runs his fingers through my hair. “Bella Ragazza would be a better fit.” Pulling my ankle to his mouth he kisses the delicate bone there. I am silent. “Beautiful girl,” he mumbles working his way up my leg.
“My God, if you keep doing that you can call me whatever you want,” I say without thinking. He laughs, blowing warm air against my inner thigh. I shiver.
Kissing the inner-most point of my thigh, he pauses before turning his head and running his tongue up my slit. I fist his hair, moaning in pleasure.
His mouth is magic; I may start calling him Harry Potter because damn if he wasn’t the chosen one of oral sex. Oh … oh my god. His tongue swirls the sensitive nub and my hips jerk up. “Fuck,” I grunt, mashing my teeth together. Then he slides that magic tongue right over my clit and bright white spots blind my vision.
“Holy…!” I cry out, unable to get the rest out. My mouth is fixed in a permanent ‘Oh’ shape and I am panting up at the ceiling; one hand gripping his hair, and one gripping the duvet. My muscles tremor as I cum hard, falling apart as I spastically push my hips upward.
Out of breath, Edward climbs my body, mashing lazy kisses in various places. I palm my forehead, trying to ground myself. Orgasms on wine? Ten times better. What even.
Gripping his jaw between my fingers I kiss his gorgeous face hard. He pulls back with a stupid grin.
“How do you say beautiful mouth in Italian?” I huff with a smile.
Edward barks out a laugh. “Should I be offended by that?” He quips.
I frown, a smile still molding my lips. “Oh, no, no, no. Not at all.” And before he can say anything more I shut his mouth up with mine. Our tongues slide against each other warm and deliciously.
Pushing my hands against his shoulders, I roll us so I’m positioned above him. Kissing the soft flesh of his neck and shoulders I taste his skin. “Mouthwatering,” I mutter.
“Hm?” He hums.
“Mouthwatering, iniquitously lush chocolate…”
“Bella.”
“Hm?”
“Are you writing your article as foreplay?”
I stop moving my mouth against his edible skin and lift my head. “Um… no?”
“I didn’t realize I was made of chocolate,” he deadpans.
I smirk. “No baby, you’re better.”
“Bella?”
“What.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He grins, I grin, and then we wash them away into a full-bodied, lavish kiss. A kiss that makes my toes curl and my skin erupt in goose bumps. A kiss that takes my breath away. I slide down onto him, taking him inside of me and never breaking that kiss. He moans at my warmth and I moan at his firmness. Working together, we create the friction our bodies seek. Our lips stay connected; breathing’s not an option. As one we climb, our muscles coil, hands grip tighter, bodies quiver. Until we let go. Our mouths break in a sharp gasp. My head burrows into his neck, I bite down as my body succumbs to its release.
My fingers curl around Edward’s biceps, his own muscles pulled tight. I can feel spurts of tremors rock his body. I shift my hips and he groans, his forehead pressing into my shoulder.
Falling loosely to his side I lay in quiet contentment. Though my body feels like jell-o, my hearts races; it beats heavily against my ribs. Shoving myself up enough to drop onto Edward’s chest, my ear presses just over his heart and I listen to it beat in time with mine.
We don’t talk, our fingers run soft trails over skin, saying all the ‘I love yous’ that need to be said. The effects of the wine are wearing off as I close my eyes a smiling fool. In Edward’s arms I am beyond content, full of a love that gives me more lightness to my soul than any amount of wine ever could.
With him I am weightless. Sleep comes and I allow myself to float away.
