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comfortably on the swell of her ass. He longed to rub against her, to show her what
she did to him. Instead, he simply moved with her, though his need twitched against
her belly. Surely she felt it, but instead of moving away in repulsion, she merely
nestled up closer, sort of cradling it with her softer flesh  embracing his desire as
she had so often embraced him.
"How did we find each other, Edward Cullen?" she asked after the song ended, her
head resting on his shoulder.
"I thought you would say it's fate," he teased gently. It was still such a new thing to
tease with such gentle good humor.
"It is fate," she insisted. "But I mean, how did we get so lucky to have this fate? To find
each other? Now, when we're ready for whatever it is this...thing between us will be?"
She looked up at me again, her expression both solemn and curious.
"Maybe fate felt it owed us both something," he pointed out, unable to help himself
from brushing his thumb along the plump lines of her lips. "For however long it lasts,
we should make the most of it."
She frowned at him. "For however long it lasts?" There was a sharpness to her tone
that unsettled him and he stopped moving in time to the music. The music
disappeared as far as he was concerned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He found he couldn't meet her eyes. He didn't want to confess his shameful secrets.
"I'm...I'm not a good person, Isabella."
She leaned back and studied him; he looked at her from beneath his lashes. Her eyes
were large and dark and mesmerizing. Finally, his lashes fluttered up and their eyes
met. "Edward?"
That was it. Just his name. "Yes?" he finally asked.
"You're full of shit," she said bluntly.
He almost smiled, but he shook his head instead. "No, I'm not."
She tugged on his ear until it was near her mouth. "Listen to me, Edward Cullen. If you
never listen to anything else I tell you, listen to this...and believe it." She took a deep
breath. "I'm not sure why you think you're not a good person. Frankly, I don't think
any of your friends would know why either." He started to protest and she gave his
ear a light tug that shut him up fast. "Even if they knew what your father had done,
they wouldn't care. Not if they were real friends. You, Edward Cullen, you are a good
man. You're loyal and brave and giving. If I had all night I couldn't possibly list all of
your good qualities. So if you want me to believe that every instinct I have is
absolutely wrong, then it's going to take a lot of evidence to make your case." She
released his ear and took a step back and then poked him hard in the chest. "Got it?"
"Yes," he said, but honesty compelled him to say more. "But you are wrong. I'm not a
good person, Isabella."
"Because of what your father did?" Her expression was fierce and Edward felt himself
taking a step backward.
"No...yes... It's hard to explain." He sighed his frustration.
"Then I guess you'd better get started," Isabella ordered. "Because for a night that
started out so promising, this one is turning into a real shit fest." He blinked at the
obscenity.
"I'm sorry," he muttered.
"For what?"
"For the...shit fest." His eyes darted up to hers.
"Apology not accepted," she said.
"Please?"
"Pleas what?" Isabella countered.
"Please forgive me for the shit fest?" he pleaded, though he rather thought he should
apologize for being who he was. What he was.
"No," she replied sternly. When he began to protest, she shook her head and held up
her hand. "But...I will give you the chance to redeem yourself."
He felt some of the tension leave him.
"However," she added. "I think this little talk is going to require something more
comfortable than your couch."
And with that, she took him by the hand and led him into his bedroom. He felt his
body tighten and surge at the knowledge they would be in his room, in his bed? He
hoped. He followed like an obedient, chastened child. When they got there, she
pushed him inside with a gentle shove. He stood there uncertainly. If it had been any
other Friday night, and he had not been in his own bedroom but in a hotel room, he
would have known what to do. He had choreographed that dance years ago.
He would have urged her to walk toward the bed, and while she was still facing away
from him, he would walked up behind her and pressed his cock into her backside at
the same time his hands came up and caressed her breasts. He found breasts
fascinating, they were all so different. Some were heavy weights in his hands that
brought to mind vivid images of ripe fruits. Others were slighter weights that nestled
lightly, as if they were birds prepared to take flight. He loved them all. Their silken
skin, the way nipples pressed impudently into his palms, the sweet taste of that first
lick and suckle. After removing a woman's top, Edward found a reverent joy in
worshipping their breasts for the first time, knowing with certainty that there would
never a next.
But tonight he was at a loss, uncertain and unhinged. Isabella's voice cut through the
anxiety.
"Get undressed, just leave on your boxers and a tee-shirt if you're cold," she ordered,
but her voice was gentle and tender and he was obeying her before he could consider
doing otherwise.
At the same time, she was tugging off her own clothes, but before he could catch a
glimpse of anything he had not seen before, she was putting one of his tee-shirts on
over her bra. A few seconds later, the lacy concoction was slipping out through one of
the armholes of the shirt. Women were amazing creatures, he thought with sudden
incredulity. So wonderfully different from men.
"Go brush your teeth and do whatever else you need to do," she said quietly. She left
the room and when he emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, she had a
toothbrush in her hand. "I'll be in bed in a second. Just get in on your side."
He still hadn't made any word of protest, and he pondered doing just that. Instead, he
pulled back the covers and climbed dutifully beneath them and pulled them up.
And waited.
He didn't have to wait long. Soon, Isabella was sliding beneath the covers as well. She
plumped up her pillows and got comfortable before she turned to him. Then she
smiled sweetly, tenderly and reached out to touch him. "My sweet, sweet man," she
murmured and for a wild moment Edward wondered who she might be talking about.
"Come here," she pleaded.
Without thought, he was slipping into her embrace. Her slender arms came up
around him and he was pillowed on her body. Her warmth, her scent, her presence
surrounded him. He was drifting on the warmest ocean, embraced by serenity 
nothing could touch him while he rested in Isabella's arms. Nothing. No one. Even the
monster inside was helpless before her power. Held by her, bound by her acceptance,
he was free.
Her hands then began a soothing pattern of moving up and down his back, her touch
light but certain, just firm enough not to be ticklish. "When I was six," Isabella said [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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