Thursday
Picture 2
Miztrezboo's Choice: Picture 1
Title:
"Edward, why did you bring me up here?"
He shrugs and I lean back against the fence post, turning my head so I can keep one eye on him and the other on the twinkling lights below.
I don't know why I bother to ask. We both know exactly why he's brought me here.
"You don't think my sister has told me about this place?" I pause, giving him time to answer but he says nothing, only sighs and runs one hand through his recently cut locks. I'm not happy with his new look. It makes his ears stick out at the side and somehow has made his nose look bigger than normal.
He's my Edward, just... different.
"It's not like your brother hasn't come up here with her enough times." I roll my eyes as he sits forward on the hood of his old bet up Camaro. Even with just the pale sliver of moonlight over head, I can still make out the rust holes in the awful blood orange paint job he and Jasper gave it in shop class.
Its only under the cover of darkness that I'll actually get in that thing. I've told him, when he either upgrades the car or gets decent paint work then I'll ride with him during the day. Until then, we usually get around in my Dad's old Mercedes. Stylish, sleek and as red as the Cherry Bomb polish on my nails.
And we don't have to let the 'engine warm' before we go anywhere either.
"Bella told you about that?"
I shake my head, stupid boy. "Girl talk."
"Come here," he says, his voice all husky and I think he's trying to be sexy.
I chuckle and recross my legs. Its such a balmy summers eve, the temperature still way in the eighties, maybe even the nineties but without the sun its just sticky and oppressive. Even here, beside the cliff face overlooking our town, there's just a hint of breeze to cool us off.
Why he couldn't have taken us to the lake is beyond me. Doesn't he realize he could have had a better chance at getting laid than here where the air is glazing my body with a second skin of sweat?
I feel gross, and I tell him as much.
"Babe -" He pauses, and I'm pretty sure that he can either sense the bitch brow that I'm giving him or see it - he knows how much I hate that so called "term of endearment."
"Rosalie," he smirks. Damn him, he also knows how much I love it when he uses my full name. Everyone has shortened it to Rosie since the day they brought me home from hospital. All because perfect little Bella couldn't say it right.
If only they knew she was eight weeks pregnant, and after a slight detour through Vegas on their trip to Stanford, that she would soon be Mrs. Emmett McCarty.
I may have disliked my older sister, but there was no way I was giving up that secret to our parents. She was the only sister I had and had taught me nearly all of the boy stuff I knew.
"Edward." I call back as he slides off the hood and saunters over. I swear there's an extra swagger in his step.
I've been keeping him at third base for a month now, even though I want more. There's just something about making him wait, making us wait. It feels right.
He sits down on the grass beside me and I can feel the extra heat from his body as he scoots closer. Even his lips feel warm against my neck and his hand extra clammy on my knee as it glides up, up, up to toy with the hem of my shorts.
"Edward," I sigh, his lips continue their journey down over my collarbone and he's using his teeth to slide the thin strap of my tank top down over my shoulder. They graze my skin and leave goose bumps in their wake and suddenly the heat of the day is sinking into my flesh and warming me from the inside out.
That hand on my leg subtly moves up and over my stomach, coming to rest on my hip where - with the lightest of pressure - he's guiding me onto my back. I fall easily onto the soft turf, his fingers tip tapping under my shirt and under the bikini top I'm wearing.
Edward's leg is between mine and he's above me, his eyes darker in the night we're wrapped in and yet I can still see this ... thing or whatever it is between us. The teenage girl in me wants to label it and the cynic that saw my parents divorce earlier this year say not to label it anything at all.
But I see it.
When he uses the tips of his fingers to brush softly over my cheek, sliding into my hair before leaning down close enough that every breath out of his is my breath in... I feel it.
"Rosalie." he whispers, just before his lips meet mine and I shiver from what I can hear behind the simple sound of my name.
Its then when I forget where we are. Forget how cliche it is to do what I know I want to do up here and I let it happen. I let go and trust in who we are and get lost in what I feel and forget all about the view of the blinking lights that are the city below.
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