CHAPTER TEN:

The sun, hot on the bare skin of my back, woke me in the morning. Well, late morning, maybe afternoon, I wasn't sure. Everything besides the time was clear, though; I knew exactly where I was– the bright room with the big white bed, brilliant sunlight streaming through the open doors, the clouds of netting softening the shine.

I didn't open my eyes. I was too happy to change anything, no matter how small. The only sounds were the waves outside, our breathing, my heartbeat...

I was comfortable, even with the baking sun. His cool skin was the perfect antidote to the heat. Lying across his wintry chest, his arms wound around me, felt very easy and natural.

His fingers softly trailed down the pearl string of my spine, and I knew that he knew I was awake. I kept my eyes shut though, and tightened my arms around his neck, holding myself closer to him. He didn't speak; his fingers moved up and down my back, barely touching it as he lightly traced patterns on my skin.

I would have been happy to lie here forever, to never disturb this moment, but my body had other ideas. I laughed at my impatient stomach. It seemed sort of prosaic to be hungry after all that had passed last night. Like being brought back down to earth from some great height.

"What's funny?" Edward murmured, still stroking my back. The sound of his voice, serious and husky, brought with it a deluge of memories from the night, and I felt a light blush color my face and neck. To answer his question, my stomach growled. I laughed again.

"You just can't escape being human for very long." I waited, but he did not laugh with me. Slowly, sinking through the many layers of bliss that clouded my head, came the realization of a different atmosphere outside my own glowing sphere of happiness.

I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was his tense jaw, and I propped myself up on my elbow so I could see his face. He was staring at the frothy canopy above us, and he didn't look at me as I studied his grave features. His expression was a shock– it sent a physical jolt through my body. "Edward," I said, a strange little catch in my throat, "what is it? What's wrong?"

"You have to ask?" his voice was hard, cynical. My first instinct, the product of a lifetime of insecurities, was to wonder what I had done wrong. I thought through everything that had happened, but I couldn't find any sour note in the memory. I couldn't think of any part that would make him look like this– so severe and cold.

What had I missed?

His finger smoothed the worried lines on my forehead. "What are you thinking? He whispered.

"You're upset. I don't understand. I thought you, you know, enjoyed it..." my voice trailed off and my cheeks warmed. His eyes tightened.

"How badly are you hurt, Bella? The truth– don't try to downplay it."

"Hurt?" I asked, surprised. He raised one eyebrow, his lips a tight line. I made a quick assessment, stretching my body automatically, tensing and flexing my muscles. There was stiffness, and a lot of soreness, too, it was true, but that was to be expected, and the most prominent sensation was the odd one that my bones and become unhinged at the joints, and I had changed halfway into the consistency of a jellyfish. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

And then I was a little angry, because he was darkening this most perfect of all mornings with his pessimistic assumptions. "Why would you jump to that conclusion?" I demanded, "I've never felt better than I am now."

"Really?" he asked, his voice hard, "look at yourself, Bella. Then tell me I'm not a monster." Wounded, shocked, I followed his instructions unthinkingly, and then sucked in a breath. What had happened to me? I couldn't make sense of the fluffy white snow that clung to my skin, and I shook my head, causing a cascade of white to drift from my hair. I pinched one soft white bit between my fingers. It was a piece of down.

"Why am I covered in feathers?" I asked, confused. He exhaled impatiently.

"I bit a pillow. Or two. That's not what I'm talking about." Huh. I remembered the headboard breaking, but not the pillows been torn– I must have been very distracted at that point. "Look Bella!" Edward almost growled. He took my hand– very gingerly– and stretched my arm out. "Look at that!" This time I saw what he meant. Underneath the dusting of feathers, large, purplish bruises were beginning to blossom across the pale skin of my arm, trailing up my shoulders, down my ribs. So lightly that he was barely touching me, Edward placed his hand against the bruises on my arm, one at a time, matching his long fingers to the patterns.

"Oh," I said. I tried to remember this– to remember pain– but I couldn't. I couldn't recall a moment when his hold had been too tight, his hands too hard against me. I only remembered wanting him to hold me tighter, and being pleased when he did...

"I'm... so sorry, Bella," he whispered, while I stared at the bruises. "I knew better than this. I should not have–" he made a low, revolted sound in the back of his throat. I sighed heavily.

"Edward," I said, "as your wife, I feel that I have a fiduciary responsibility to tell you when you are being particularly stupid. And in case that wasn't clear, let me put it bluntly– you are being particularly stupid."

His eyes were still filled with self-loathing and I knew this was going to take a while. Still, I couldn't help being utterly pissed at him for trying to ruin what was– or at least, what had been– an amazing morning after.

"I am more sorry than I can tell you." He said, so earnestly, and I groaned aloud.

"Well I'm not sorry! I'm... god, I can't even tell you! I'm so happy! And that doesn't even begin to cover it. Don't be angry. Don't. I'm really f–"

"Do not say the word fine." His voice was ice-cold. "If you value my sanity, do not say that you are fine."

"Well screw your sanity then!" I growled, "Because I am! I am fine!"

"Bella," he almost moaned, "don't."

"No– you don't, Edward!" I snapped. His gold eyes watched me warily, as I glared down at him. "Don't ruin this," I warned him, "I. Am. Happy."

"I've already ruined this," he whispered.

"Stop that!" I snapped. I heard his teeth grind together. "No, I'm serious– stop. You don't get to decide how I feel for me, understand?" I sat up, uncaring of my nakedness, the bareness of my breasts, and gave him a furious look. "Answer me this– did you enjoy last night?"

"Last night was, well, one of the best nights of my existence." He admitted, and I couldn't deny the satisfied curl of heat inside me at this affirming words. "But I don't want to think of it that way, not when you were–"

"Really?" I interrupted him, my lips now curved into a smile. "The best night of your existence?"

"It was more. It was everything. That doesn't change the fact that it was wrong. Even if it were possible that you really do feel that way." He said, softly.

"What does that mean?" I asked, indignantly, "Do you think I'm making this up? Why?"

"To ease my guilt. I can't ignore the evidence, Bella. Or your history of trying to let me off the hook when I make mistakes." I grabbed his chin and leaned forward so that our faces were inches apart.

"You listen to me, Edward Cullen. I am not pretending anything for your sake– I didn't even know there was a reason to make you feel better until you started being all miserable. I've never been so happy in all my life– I wasn't this happy when you first decided that you loved me, or the first morning I woke up and you were there waiting for me... Not even when I heard your voice in the ballet studio, when I saw you standing in the shadows, still alive in Italy, or when I felt your arms around me when I returned from the Battle of Hogwarts,"– he flinched at the reminders of these memories, but I didn't pause– "or when you said 'I do' and I realized that, somehow, I get to keep you forever. Those are some of the happiest memories I have, and this is better than any of it. So you just deal with it, understand? I am my own person, you don't get to decide what is right or wrong for me– I am a grown-ass woman and if you try to take that choice from me, you are denying me my right to my own emotions and saying that I'm not capable of knowing myself. Is that what you're saying, Edward? Are you calling me some child who needs your guidance, who doesn't know any better?"

Edward looked horrified at my accusations. "No, of course not!" He protested and I nodded fiercely, sliding off the bed and standing up, putting my hands on my hips and scowling down at him.

"Good. Now I'm going to have a shower and I expect you to join me. At least to get all these bloody feathers out of my hair." I ordered, before spinning on my heel and storming to the bathroom.

Adjusting the expensive shower to the right water temperature was exceedingly simple, and I couldn't deny that stepping under the rush of water was heaven. Edward stepped in after me, a silent presence that I ignored, other then the fingertips ghosting over my scalp, threading through the snarls of my hair, plucking out the feathers.

Under the warm spray I could recognize that the ache between my shoulder blades that was going to turn into stiffness, and there were different parts of me– my arms, hips, ribs and thighs to be precise– that were going to twinge for days, and not in a good way. Letting the warm water pour down over me was bliss, but then I turned to Edward and my breath caught.

His face was stiff and reserved, but the way the water slowly soaked him where he was standing back against the tiles like a Greek statue made my heart speed up in my chest, shortened my breath. His bronze hair was a wet mess that curled and curved over his neck and forehead, his mouth was wet and shiny and his throat running trails of water.

I literally couldn't stop myself from moving forwards, closing the short distance between us and pressing my mouth against his. He immediately turned to a statue beneath me, but I didn't let him push me away, instead held onto him hard enough that he couldn't get me to let go without hurting me.

His body was a tense, unhappy line before me, but I could practically taste his fight for self-control in the stiff movements of his mouth, but I was utterly determined to seduce my husband, as ridiculous as it was that I needed to do it in the first place. The water soaked my hair, running down between us to flow past where our mouths were joined, down Edward's chest and I let my hand drop to where he hung, thick and heavy, my slippery fingers curling around him in a tight grasp. Edward's head fell back, knocking against the tiles, a rare, colorful curse slipping out.

I pulled back, worrying my lip between my teeth as I looked up at him. "Please," I begged him, knowing I was playing dirty but honestly not caring. "Please, I want this, Edward– I really want this. I want you– I love you and I want you."

I could see the way he was arguing with himself, internally, with the stressed lines of his face and his expression was just as desperate as mine. "I don't want to hurt you, Bella," he practically pleaded with me.

"Edward, I don't mind a few bruises– I'm pretty sure I actually like them," I confessed. "There's more then just one type of sex out there, and I'm not going to deny that for me, the bit of pain just made it more real, more exciting. Last night was the best night of my entire life. I wouldn't lie to you about something as important as that, as this." I could literally see the moment he lost the hesitation and we kissed, greedily, his hands moving to my shoulders and then curving down my hips.

Warm water sluiced over us as our kiss deepened and hands started to roam. I pressed myself tight against him, wanting to be close, to feel the cold, hard marble lines of him against my curves, flushed wet from the hot spray of the shower. I felt the wet spread of his icy fingers low on my back, drifting and curving around my waist, icy thumbs sliding on skin where the water ran. The way his grip flexed and relaxed told me it was going to leave new, fresh bruises, but like I told him, I didn't care about that, just kissed him harder.

Edward held me to him and eased us both back until the tiles of the shower were pressed against my back and the wet length of his chest pressed against mine, his fingers slipping down to cradle my hips, tilting them until the water couldn't run between us.

It took very little maneuvering to position ourselves to let his body press into me, press inside me. It left me gasping and open-mouthed, my fingers going white on his shoulders I was gripping onto him so hard as he pushed until I was filled and aching and trembling with it. As he moved I clung to him and didn't bother holding in the moans and gasps; helpless, breathless sounds I didn't even recognize coming from my mouth. Pleas slipped unbidden from my lips and I couldn't find myself to be embarrassed by how desperate I sounded, the raw ache in my voice.

The part of me that wasn't so consumed by my own pleasure was very satisfied to note Edward was just as affected as I was; a satisfaction that lit its own fire inside me, made my blood burn like fire in my veins. My husband pressed his wintry lips against the curve of my neck and it was so easy to imagine those sharp, white teeth biting down where my skin was delicate and fragile, my pulse fluttering madly.

And, in a spectacular display of no self-preservation whatsoever, it was this thought that had me reaching my finish, clinging hard to Edward through one messy, half-broken shudder after another until I wasn't the only one who had reached completion. Edward pushed into me so hard that every inch of me hurt, but in its own way it was perfect– just like us.

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