Unglued: the honeymoon scene

Stephenie Meyer did a hair-yanking, pulse-pounding wonderful job (for me) fanning the slow burning build up of sexual tension between Edward and Bella during the first three books. Bella damn near faints after kissing Edward in Twilight. He gives her the first really dangerous kiss in New Moon. And then there's a body temperature raising scene involving hips in Eclipse.

So like any hot-blooded girl with more imagination than sense, I was counting on the pay-off in Breaking Dawn. Hungering for it, okay?

When that scene came, when Edward and Bella are finally naked and standing together in tropical water just a wee bumpy boat ride from the coast of Rio...Edward pulls her deeper into the water and the honeymoon scene goes white before anything goes down.

!!!

I've been fighting an irresistible compulsion to write their honeymoon scene ever since.

This is my rated-M version of Edward and Bella's wedding night. It's written in third person narrative from Edward's point view, and I've taken some words directly from the book.

Below is the youtube video of the song that most inspired this piece. The song, which almost breaks my heart every time I hear it, is called Trees and is by Keiko Matsui. (Oh, if only they'd been able to use this piece as Bella's lullaby in the movie...)



I took a wee liberty with Edward's mind-reading ability. In Midnight Sun, he's able to "see" faces through the vision of others. But sometimes a handy human isn't around...so why couldn't an animal provide a similar glimpse, sans thought?

I love playing God.

Naked, but not vulnerable in the conventional sense that most humans seemed to experience when they were bare, Edward walked across the moon-lit sand at a human's pace. He closed his eyes as he walked. The moisture-heavy wind from the ocean brought the scent and taste of salt, turtle and seaweed, while the soft breeze that came from behind him smelled of sunburnt leaves, coconuts and sand. Sound echoed hollow-like in the air pocket of the submerged cave nearby as water slapped against the stone. From a greater distance, he could even hear whale song.

Nature was its own symphony; it always soothed him when he gave it a chance.

His body didn't feel temperature like Bella's did, but his skin could cool or warm in response to environment; it could retain a sense of heat. And so he sank under the water until he rested on the sandy bottom, letting the warmth work against his skin. It was still in the mid-eighties outside and while that would help mitigate his body's non-heat, water was a better, quicker conductor.

It would let him hold her without the unwelcome side effects. No more chattering teeth, no more blankets, no more protection. No restraints, other than the necessity to maintain control. For the most part, Edward believed only in his will, but he sent a prayer to a god he hoped wasn't turning a deaf ear his way now.

Don't let me hurt her.

It couldn't hurt.

The manageable, but still-painful, burn in his throat for her blood was also a slow burn to possess her body. He'd given those feelings a certain amount of free reign, allowing them to grow stronger in the months since they'd made their bargain in order to test the limits of his resolve and strength. But the urgent need to be as close to her as a lover was unpredictably strong; he came this-close to forgetting what he was during those times.

Although he'd tried to sample a bit more of the experience without going too far, he had only been able to let the two of them skim second base once. The urge to crush the part of himself that ached against her, to do more than just kiss the skin at her collarbone, had been too much; he'd broken away from her as abruptly as he had the first time they'd kissed. He hoped it was psychological, that it was more about his morals and less about his cravings.

Fear intermingled with desire rattled through his body and his eyes snapped open. The movement of the water sent streaks of moonlight rippling across his body in snake-like patterns, growing more erratic with the approach of a wave. When it hit, he let the force have its way with his body and carry him backwards as if he was human. And he reminded himself again: mind over matter.

The whale song began again as Bella turned the water on inside the house. Her body had been registering signs of nerves ever since he'd carried her through the doorway--the way she'd hesitated to meet his eyes, the sudden race of her heart as he'd dragged her up from the boat into his arms, the heavy silence as he set her on her feet in the bedroom. He smiled because he understood all too well what she was feeling and while it put their toes at the same place on the start line, it was different for her because she was human and he...was not.

His body's normal response to stress was to shut down, and although he felt a great deal of stress now, excitement kept interrupting the usual reaction. He pushed himself to the surface in a burst of water and jackknifed into a dive, shooting away from the shoreline until the bottom of the ocean was more than a mile below. The burst of power still exhilarated him. In this moment, everything was nearly perfect. She'd married him and they were both nervous and excited about consummating their love. It was as close as they would come to what the rest of the human race felt at such a time.

Already he missed the sound of her voice, the look of her face, the feel of her in his arms. Crazy, impossible, this all-consuming ache he always felt for her, especially when they were apart. He'd stopped trying to make sense of it long ago. Did it have to make sense?

Sometime later--he'd stopped counting the minutes to keep from going completely mad--he heard a footfall against the pavement just outside the bedroom, and he went still in the water. A bird perched in the upper branches of the tree where he'd left the rest of his clothing opened its eyes, giving him a skewed view of Bella as she approached. Her face was flushed, tense, her gaze wide and-- The bird blinked its eyes and he lost the vision, but it was enough.

She's coming to me.

The moon was almost full and he focused on it with the barest amount of attention. What he wanted was to turn. To watch. To drink the sight of her in...but he was afraid of what she might see in his eyes, always conscious that he could frighten her with the desperation of his love.

Instead, he cheated with his other senses. When she paused at the tree to take a breath, he took a breath with her. The gentle brush of cloth as she disrobed had him taking another breath, this one not so steady. She took another step, no longer hesitant. And her racing heart slowed.

It slowed?

He inhaled her scent, that unique scent that wasn't lavender or freesia or rose, but a combination of all three, and then two steps more and she was walking into the water. Drawing near, water softly splashing around her legs, her movements louder over the sound of the wind only because he was so attuned to her, her heartbeat like music, behind him, behind him, her scent stronger, warm and beside him now. The touch of her hand made his eyes open; he hadn't realized they were closed.

"Beautiful," she said and his heart wrenched because he realized she thought he was preoccupied with the moon, because she humbled him, because somehow she'd managed to conquer her nerves, because she trusted him, loved him enough to--

"It's all right," he answered. Thinking hurt too much sometimes.

He turned to face her and though part of him noted the change in the sky from a dying star, smelled how her scent strengthened when the water broke against her skin, felt the heat of her arousal--the ache, ignore the ache--he kept his eyes on hers as he took her hand in his.

"But I wouldn't use the word beautiful, not with you standing here," he told her and watched a slow smile curve her lips. Because she stood here, he could almost believe in heaven. When her hand raised to touch him, his body betrayed him again and he shivered, he shivered, there was no other word for it.

"I promised we would try," he said, and air he didn't need was hitching in his throat. "If...if I do something wrong, if I hurt you, you must tell me at once."

Please don't let me hurt her.

Although she hadn't moved at all, there was a look in her doe's eyes that made him feel as if she leaned forward to press a kiss against the worst of his pain. And then she did move and they were skin-against-skin, her soft, exquisitely formed body no longer just an imagining, but real. It sent a jolt of ice-licked fire through his stomach.

"Don't be afraid," she said. "We belong together."

With a moan too low for her to hear, he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her closer. "Forever," he said.

Already, he felt as if he could come unglued from desire that had been deferred time and again. Hiding his body's reaction had been easy in the past because he was hard all over, but there was no way she could mistake it now. Would it scare her? His fingers sought the pulse at her throat. Erratic. As his would be, if he had a pulse.

Under the water, her hands didn't feel quite so different in temperature, or maybe his body was still reacting unpredictably and would combust like she once threatened hers would. He felt like it could.

Their eyes held and melded as he pulled her close again, too close, and yet not close enough. She wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned back against his hands, arching until the water embraced her and moonlight touched the delicate skin just under her chin. He drank in the sight of the little nose, the heavy-lidded eyes, the flushed cheekbones, her mouth as it parted. Her hair flowed cape-like behind her as he moved them in a slow pirouette, and her arms spread wide under the water. He was enthralled, lost in her beauty, a willing captive to whatever it was that held him. It seemed as if she had been made only for him, and he wondered again at his luck in finding her. Was she real? The cords of his neck tensed.

"Bella," he whispered.

Her eyes tore into his soul--what he hoped was his soul. "It's just another dance, Edward."

And she would let him lead as she always did, only he didn't feel patient anymore, his body hard against her softness, his desire and her response making them both shaky. Softly, so softly that he barely touched her, he brought his fingertips down the sensitive nerves of her skin, his thumb just skimming her rose-like nipple. They both gasped.

Another half-spin and he lifted her from the water's embrace into his, wet, slippery, sweet, oh, so sweet the way she slid against him. Her breath came in a pant when he kissed her, gentle at first, then hungrily, having to back off often to keep from being too rough. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth grazing him, something he hadn't allowed her to do before. He couldn't use his teeth on her, not even to tease, but he wanted to taste her, wanted to let her taste him, and it was too close--

He broke away to press his lips against her neck. Her arms came around his head, and he let her fretfully kneading hands urge him downwards until his mouth was an open grimace of sweet urgency against the swell of her upper breast. Swearing softly, his hands shifted to lift her higher and the water kicked up in a splash, her breath coming out on a sob as his mouth closed over her breast. Her legs loosened around him slightly and she slid downward and it was only a moment that they brushed together, a mistake but not really a mistake, and suddenly she was shuddering with a climax. His lips still on her breast, he heard himself growling--

She was sobbing and protesting being unwrapped from his body so he could cradle her in his arms before he realized, fully realized, that she was simply disarmed by the unexpected fervency of her first orgasm.

"Please, oh please, Edward," she cried and clung tightly to his shoulders, still trembling and trying to rearrange herself into the other position. "Again."

Trembling himself, he carried her with inhuman speed from the water, across the sand and through the still-open French doors. The frantic pounding of her heart matched the pace of his breathing as he laid her gently on the bed. Her mouth was urgent under his, open and tempting and he yearned to open his mouth to her, to touch her tongue with his, just one taste. She arched against whatever part of him she could touch, making little mewing sounds of distress or excitement.

"Bella, I love you," he said brokenly against her lips. "I love you, I love you, oh how I love you."

Softly, too quick, too quick in his excitement, he ran his fingertips down her ribs, across her waist, over the swell of her hip. He grazed her sweetly shaped buttock but instead of lingering there, he stopped when his hand reached her calf. They were breathless now, both of them remembering the move. Hooking her by the back of the knee, he brought her leg up over his hip, rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. The shock of the intimacy made his hips buck involuntarily against her and she fell onto his chest.

His voice came out in a wild hiss. "Don't. Move."

And she didn't, but it was too powerful, too much like torture, and he shot out from under her. He was across the room, his back against the wall, before she'd finished the roll to her back, and his fierce yearning only grew more painful because he was here and she was there.

"Edward," she choked.

And he was back, his mouth on her throat, tongue pressed against her pulse, his palm a caress against the inside of her thigh. She tensed and writhed as his fingers climbed.

"Please," she breathed.

His will dissolving, dissolving, he licked the pulse in her neck. A wave of passion shook him as he slipped a finger inside her heat and a sharp cry flew from her lips. One breath, one more touch, could be the end of him... She was small, so small, but she liked the feel of his finger and he liked it even better. Surely there couldn't be anything better in life than this--to make her feel good--to hear her make these sounds.

"Yes, Bella," he moaned against her mouth, his palm curved against her cheek, shameless, utterly shameless, to use the power of his voice and his breath on her.

Before he could stop himself, the tip of his tongue entered her mouth. His body clenched. In a lightning move she wouldn't feel, he dared to push his tongue past her lips once, twice and oh, god, her muscles were contracting in an orgasm again. He jerked his mouth away, kissing his way up her cheek until he reached her ear. "Yes, yes, yes."

She was still quivering when he pulled her on top of him again. His muscles were stiff and in distress and he shouldn't, but he felt he'd die if he didn't, and her weight on top of his thighs was negligent, but her right-there heat was heavy, almost too heavy. His palms pressed against her thighs, caressed her hips, moved back down her thighs to pull her closer.

The ache, the ache, the ache.

He lost pace with his breath. "Are you ready?"

Eyes at half-mast, she gave him the peek-a-boo smile he loved. "Yes." And he heard what she didn't say, too: I've always been ready for you.

His voice shook as badly as hers had when she'd nearly frozen to death. "I can't--there's no way I can--"

You have to be on top.

She leaned down to scatter kisses against his stomach. His muscles jumped and quivered in response and he pushed her back, then pulled her close again. His jaw clenched as her hand neared him.

"I-I'll do it," he said raggedly. He took another breath. "I'm sorry, Bella."

"Don't be sorry," she whispered against his chest.

Soap bubble. Breakable. Want you. Soap bubble.

Bringing her forehead against his, he kissed her again, long and slow, until she was limp and he felt her blood beating wildly beneath his fingertips. Her moan was a vibration against his mouth and she was twisting dangerously, conveniently close when he gently set her back to wrap his fingers around himself. Waves of hushed anticipation, his and hers, washed over him like molten fire. One of her hands cupped his, another sign of affirmation.

Scared, scared, but not able to stand the intolerable wait anymore, Edward eased himself, with her help, to her opening. Just a little inside.

Oh, no, no, I'm too cool down there against you.

Hands splayed against his chest, her gaze still melded with his, Bella took him halfway inside and--

Heat. Sensation. Unbearable. Want you, want you NOW.

--and then she took a great, gasping breath and sank the rest of the way down on him with a cry. The world melted like candle wax and his growl came in a long, unbroken sound. The scent of her blood, of her sex, was a shockwave trying to drown him. His hands were on her, too hard, too much, then curled into claws against the mattress. Sounds, similar to what she'd made, but deeper, came from the back of his throat. It was a small mercy that she held still above him, her mouth open and panting, their breaths mingling, inflaming each other.

Too much. I want you too much.

And even though he was already lying down, he felt himself spiraling down at the burning pain her scent caused. Used to it, he was used to it now, but the reason she bled was another sacrifice and it made him want to weep.

Also painful, but in a different, suddenly more powerful way, was the less manageable feeling of how his body throbbed in hers.

If you've never felt what it's like to have an orgasm, you should, Carlisle advised. BEFORE you're with Bella.

And so he had, but he'd found it a hollow experience. Sex could only be an act of love for him.

"My heart," he said to her and cupped her cheek. "My life."

"My angel," she said, and her voice broke.

When he was able to control himself again, he grasped her hips. She couldn't--wouldn't--be able to make another movement unless he allowed it. Her thighs were relaxed against his as she stared down at him with fascination in her eyes, watched whatever expression crossed his face as he fought to come to grips with what was happening inside his body. When her internal muscles tightened around him, he arched under her in spite of himself.

"Help me, Bella," he gasped. She had to be hurting. "Help me to be gentle with you."

The look in her eyes was torn, echoing too perfectly how he felt. Move, don't move. Stay, run. Touch, don't touch. She wasn't going to help him keep her safe one bit.

Her breath fanned out in a sigh across his face and her head nodded to the side. Long, wet tendrils of her hair curled sickle-like around her breast and hesitantly, one of his hands raised. Shuddering as he cupped her, her head tilted back, the wet tendrils of her hair a caress against his thighs. He heard her love sounds as music--un poco vibrato, dolcissimo--a sonata that ended abruptly when her internal muscles squeezed him again. She was under him then and his arms were wrapped around her, his fingers curved around fragile ribs.

Shaken and frantic by what he'd done, keeping his movement utterly still down there, he rose to look at her face.

"Bella?"

Her eyes opened, heavy with passion, widening at whatever she saw on his face.

"I love you, I love you," she whispered convulsively and her arms rose, fingers sinking into his hair. She pulled his face to hers and pressed a full, open kiss onto his mouth.

The free-flowing fire claimed him again. Dizzy, agonized, but caught up in a joy he'd never experienced before, he moved inside her as gently as he could. Her legs twined with his, her body moving against him fiercely, roughly, as if in response to his caution. He let her take from him, and gentle thief that she was, she took his darkness and anger and pain, all the thoughts of doubt, and hurled them over the brilliant rainbow in his mind. And he was soaring, glory and anguish and desire warring at the same time for release, terrifying and inescapable in intensity.

He was growling when he came back from the clouds, to Bella, to find his mouth sunk into the pillow behind her head. He pulled back with wary confusion, then saw the gaping tear left from his teeth. Understanding hit him like a baseball bat across the nose and reality, his reality, shifted gut wrenchingly back into place.

He'd bared his teeth not two inches away from her neck.

Underneath him, she sighed.

"Bella?"

There were tears on her cheeks. Desperate, horrified, his fingers searched along her body. She was all smooth warm silk, her chest and cheeks still pink from the flush of their lovemaking.

"Love you...love you, Edward," she whispered on a sigh, already drifting away from him into sleep.

Eventually, he rolled over and pulled her onto his chest. Her hand came to rest against the side of his face. He lifted it and pressed a kiss into her palm, but all the while he was dying inside.




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