ISLE ESME

Chapter Two - The Next Morning

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Stephenie Meyer's.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The sun, hot on the bare skin of my back, woke me in the morning – or maybe it was afternoon; I really wasn't sure. Everything other than the time was clear, though. I knew exactly where I was – in the bright room with the big white bed, brilliant sunlight streaming through the open doors. The clouds of netting would soften the glare.

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 sun baking my skin. Lying across his wintry chest – back to its normal temperature now – with his arms wound around me, was the perfect antidote to the heat. His fingers softly trailed down the contours of my spine, and I knew that he knew I was awake.

"Good morning," I murmured. I kept my eyes shut and tightened my arms around his neck, holding myself closer to him, and felt his lips on my hair. I would have been happy to lie here forever, to never disturb this perfect 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 happened last night – like being brought back down to earth from some great height.

"What's funny?" he murmured, still tracing light patterns on my back. The sound of his voice, serious and husky, brought with it a deluge of memories from the night, and I felt a blush color my face and neck.

To answer his question, my stomach growled. I laughed again. "I just can't escape being human for very long."

Instead of laughing with me, as I expected, he rolled over to face me and combed his cool fingers through the hair at my temple. "Bella, how badly are you hurt?" His voice was low and strained.

"What?" My eyes popped open. His expression, taut and worried, sent a physical jolt through me. "Hurt? What do you mean?"

His eyes tightened even more. "Tell me the truth – don't downplay it. Please, I need to know."

Automatically, I made a quick assessment, stretching my body, tensing and flexing my muscles. There was stiffness, and a lot of soreness, too, it was true, but mostly there was the odd sensation that my bones had all become unhinged at the joints. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

"Edward, I don't understand." I touched his face. "I'm fine. Why do you think I'm not?"

"Look at yourself, Bella."

Confused, I followed his instructions unthinkingly, and then gasped. What had happened to me? I couldn't make sense of the fluffy white snow that clung to my skin. I shook my head and a cascade of white drifted out of 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, bewildered.

His mouth tightened. "I bit through a pillow – or two. It's not important and that's not what I'm talking about."

I stared at him a moment in confusion, then made the connection between the ruined frame of his bed back home and the pillows bitten here. I shook more feathers from my hair and - I couldn't help it – the thought of what I must look like made me giggle.

Edward looked at me as if he doubted my sanity, then sighed impatiently. "Look, Bella." He took my hand – very gingerly – and stretched my arm out. "Look at this."

This time, I saw what he meant. Under the dusting of feathers, huge purplish bruises were beginning to blossom across the pale skin of my arm. I followed the trail they made up to my shoulder, and then down across my ribs. I poked at one discoloration on my left forearm, watching it fade where I touched and then reappear. It throbbed a little.

'Oh, no," I sighed. So lightly that I barely felt the touch, Edward placed his hand against the bruises on my arm, one at a time, matching his long fingers to the patterns.

"I'm . . . so sorry, Bella," he whispered tightly, while I frowned at the bruises, trying to remember any moment of pain last night. "I should have kept better control over myself. Are you in much pain? The first aid kit is well-stocked, if you need to take something."

"Edward, I'm fine," I assured him. "A little stiff and, well, sore, but that's all. You know how easily – "

"I know you bruise easily," he interrupted, "That's why I'm not absolutely panicking right now. But you must have been in pain, last night; why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there was nothing to tell," I told him earnestly. "Edward, there was no pain, honestly. I can't remember any time when you . . . held me too tightly, or, or your hands were too rough. I only remember wanting you to hold me tighter, and loving it when you did."

He searched my eyes for a long moment. His brow was still furrowed. "Bella, is that really the truth? You're not just saying that to . . . ease my guilt?"

I drew back a little. "You think I'm lying to you?"

He evaded the question. "You have a history of trying to let me off the hook when I make mistakes."

I sighed. "And you have a history of taking the blame for my mistakes - but there were no mistakes last night. Edward, last night was wonderful, and perfect, and I wouldn't change one moment of it for all the money in the world."

His expression didn't ease even when I softly kissed him. A little hurt, I pulled back. "I mean, I don't know how it was for you, but it was like that for me."

Instantly his face became contrite. He leaned forward and kissed me, his hand smoothing my hair. "Of course it was like that for me. I'm sorry if I made you think that last night wasn't . . . well, the best night of my existence. I just . . . I didn't want to think of it that way, not if I'd been hurting you."

I looked into his sincere, golden eyes, and my lips curved up a little. "Really? The best night ever?"

He kissed me again. "Never doubt it, love."

It seemed as if the crisis was past, so I relaxed a little. "What about the meadow?" I asked teasingly, referring to the place where we'd first made love. "I thought you said that was the best."

His lips curved slowly into my favorite crooked smile. "That wasn't at night."

I smiled too, remembering. "No, it wasn't."

Then I looked at him. "Edward, I had bruises then, too, and after the time in my bedroom" - referring to the night when we'd taken advantage of Charlie working late, only to be surprised when he'd come home early; it hadn't been the most satisfying encounter – "and you didn't freak out like this. Well, not about the bruises," I added, recalling that my period had unexpectedly started right after we'd made love in the meadow. Seeing the blood, Edward had been convinced that time, too, that he'd hurt me.

To my dismay, his face turned serious again. "You haven't seen the full extent, Bella. Look." With that he pulled down the sheet covering us.

'Whoa." Patches of blue and purple decorated my entire torso, and even my thighs. I'd had worse, but I had to admit it wasn't often, though I would never say that aloud.

As Edward looked at the unsightly blotches, his expression grew bleak. I knew another round of angst was coming. "This is much worse than the meadow, Bella. You looked almost this bad after James's attack last year," he said through tight lips.

"Oh, please!" I snorted. "You're comparing broken bones, a severed artery, and twelve stitches in my head with a few bruises? These are nothing, Edward. You didn't see me after my gym teacher in Phoenix insisted I play basketball with the class."

He stared at me for a moment, then his eyes got a faraway look in them. "Bella, after you and I made our bargain, before our day in the meadow, I spoke to Carlisle, hoping he could help me. Of course, he warned me that making love with you would be very dangerous for you. He had faith in me, though."

I touched his face. "Of course he did." Carlisle knew Edward even better than I did; knew his strength of character and the beauty of his soul. I wasn't sure where this digression was leading, but I would listen to anything that took that tight, anxious look off his face.

Turning his head, Edward kissed the palm of my hand. "I also asked him what I should expect. I didn't know what it would be like for me . . . what with my being a vampire."

He half-smiled. "Carlisle told me it was a very powerful thing, like nothing else. He told me that physical love was something I should not treat lightly. With our rarely-changing temperaments, strong emotions can alter us in permanent ways. But he said I didn't need to worry about that part – that you had already altered me so completely there wasn't much left to change." This time his smile was wider, more amused.

"I spoke to my brothers too."

My jaw dropped. "You talked to Emmett about sex?" I could just imagine the kind of bawdy, uninhibited conversation that must have been. Actually, I didn't want to imagine it. Even the thought made me cringe.

Edward laughed a little. "And Jasper. They told me it was a very great pleasure – almost as good as drinking human blood." He grew thoughtful. "But I've tasted your blood, and no blood could be more potent than that. . . and there is no comparison. I don't think they were wrong, really. Just that it's different for us. Something more."

"It is more," I said softly. "It's everything."

"Yes." He touched his forehead to mine; his sweet breath made me dizzy. "That was how I felt too, that day in the meadow, and again last night. And then, to lie here, afterward, with you sleeping in my arms, and watch the marks on your body appear and grow larger and more vivid with every hour that passed – marks that I put there. . . ."

He closed his eyes, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "I began to feel like a monster again."

"Edward – "

He put a finger on my lips, silencing my protest. "You were right, Bella. I didn't see the results of your attempt to play basketball – but I remember the volleyball class . . . and badminton . . . and soccer. I remember those bruises."

He took my face between his hands, his eyes intent. "You say I didn't hurt you last night, and I'm forced to believe you. But I will be more careful from now on; I promise. Because I can't bear for our loving to make you look as though you've been beaten. It shouldn't be that way."

"And I promise to try to help you," I agreed - because I couldn't bear to see that look on his face one moment longer, because didn't want to cause him any more pain – and, to be honest, because I wasn't all that anxious to get any more bruises. As I knew from much experience, they are tender and only looked uglier as they healed.

My stomach chose that moment to growl again, quite loudly. Edward smiled and kissed me. "You're hungry; let's feed you." He was swiftly out of the bed, stirring up a cloud of feathers. Which reminded me.

"So, why did you decide to ruin Esme's pillows?" I asked, sitting up and shaking more down from my hair.

He had already pulled on a pair of loose khaki pants, and he stood by the door, rumpling his hair, dislodging a few feathers of his own. He gave me a wry look. "I don't know that I decided to do anything last night. I'm just glad it was the pillows, since otherwise the entire canopy might have fallen down on our heads."

Instinctively I glanced upward at the metal framework that arched over the bed, supporting the yards and yards of mosquito netting. It wouldn't have hurt him, of course.

"Good choice." I slid carefully off the high bed and stretched again, more aware now of the aches and sore spots. I heard him inhale sharply, and walked to the bathroom for a better look.

I stared at my naked body in the full-length mirror behind the door. Yes, I'd definitely had worse, but this was bad enough. My face was fine, thank goodness, except for a faint shadow across one cheekbone and slightly swollen lips. The rest of me . . . I sighed. I looked hideous, and would only look worse tomorrow.

Then I saw my hair, and groaned.

"Bella?" He was right there beside me as soon as I made a sound, looking anxious. "What's wrong?"

"I'll never get all this out of my hair!" I started plucking at the feathers.

"You would be worried about your hair." Shaking his head, he came to stand behind me, pulling out the feathers much more quickly than I could.

I started laughing and had to lean against him. "My head looks like a chicken is nesting in it! How did you keep a straight face?"

"I wasn't really in a mood to find anything funny, earlier," he told me, smiling rather grimly at my reflection. "But I must admit, there is a certain similarity to a bird's nest." He pressed a kiss on my shoulder and resumed plucking.

With the help of his deft fingers, and a vigorous brushing after Edward left to cook breakfast for me, my hair soon looked almost normal again – though I planned on washing it later. When I had dressed in an unfamiliar white cotton dress that concealed the worst of the violet blotches, I padded off barefoot to where the smell of eggs and bacon and cheese was coming from.

Edward stood in front of the stainless steel stove, still delightfully bare-chested, sliding an omelet onto the light blue plate waiting on the counter. The scent of the food overwhelmed me; I felt like I could eat the plate and the frying pan too. My stomach snarled loudly; I couldn't remember ever being this hungry.

"Here." He turned with an amused smile and set the plate on a small tiled table.

I sat in one of the two metal chairs and started wolfing down the hot eggs, barely taking time to chew. They burned my throat, but I didn't care.

He sat down across from me. "I'm not feeding you often enough."

I swallowed and then reminded him, "I was asleep. This is really good, by the way. Impressive for someone who doesn't eat."

"Food Network," he said, flashing the crooked smile I loved.

I was happy to see it, happy that he seemed to be his normal self again. "Where did the eggs come from?"

"I asked the cleaning crew to stock the kitchen. A first, for this place. I'll have to ask them to deal with the feathers when they come." He frowned thoughtfully.

I stopped in mid-bite. "What will they think?"

"Probably that we had wild, hot sex." He grinned as, predictably, I blushed.

I ate everything, though he'd made enough for two people. "Thank you," I told him, and leaned across the tiny table to kiss him.

I honestly had no intention of it going any farther than that, but after the kiss ended we looked at each other for a moment, and then Edward was beside me, pulling me to my feet, and I rose onto my toes to meet his lips. Suddenly we were on fire, lips demanding, hands eager, bodies straining together.

With one swipe of his hand, Edward sent my breakfast plate crashing to the floor, and then lifted me onto the table. I wrapped my legs around him, but he hesitated. "Too flimsy," he whispered hoarsely. "It might break."

"Then find something that won't," I growled, raining kisses on his bare shoulder, my hands twisting in his bronze hair. I nipped at his earlobe with my lips. He groaned, then all at once I was in his arms and we were speeding through the house.

He burst through a door and deposited me on a bed. I only vaguely noticed that it wasn't the white bedroom - this room had blue furnishings and dark walls – before my attention was completely taken by Edward.

During the few seconds it took to get to this room, Edward had somehow regained a measure of control. His kisses were slightly less urgent, his hands gentler, and he was careful not to hold me too tightly.

I tried to keep my promise to help him with his restraint, tried to temper my passion - but it was so hard to hold back when my heart was pounding a mile a minute and I had to remind myself to breathe . . . when all I wanted was to feel his arms crushing me against him . . . when the hard, cool length of his body on mine set every nerve aflame.

Our chances to make love, before the wedding, had been few and far in between, so the soreness took me by surprise. I couldn't help a tiny flinch when he entered me. Instantly he froze, pulling back slightly. "I'm hurting you?"

"It'll be all right," I gasped. "Please, Edward, don't stop." I thrust toward him, trying to take him deeper, but then he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him.

"You control it, Bella," he whispered. "But stop if it's hurting too much. Please."

I hesitated, a little taken aback and, of course, self-conscious. But then he rocked his hips gently, and pleasure speared through the slight soreness. I shivered and began to move with him.

It was . . . different. Not better, necessarily, just different. For one thing, I did have more control, and was able to keep the pace slow, until the discomfort eased. Not that Edward wouldn't have done the same, but he might have insisted that we put it off until evening, to give me more time to heal.

And that would have been a shame. Because the best part of this new position was that I had a much better view of him. Not only could I feast my eyes on his glorious perfection, I could run my hands along the planes of his marble chest as we rocked together, trace the line of shadowy hair that ran down to where our bodies joined. . . .

Before, we'd always been pressed close, arms wrapped around each other. And although I'd been able to feel his body tensing, and hear his breath coming faster, now, for the first time, I could see the full effects of our lovemaking.

I could see the shudders rippling through him . . . the flexing of his muscles . . . the change in his skin from white marble to a warmer ivory shade. I watched his eyes first smolder and then blaze with amber fire, and the involuntary tremors pass over his angel's face as he fought to remain in control. And when my own passion finally spiraled to the point of no return, the last sight I had before my eyes reflexively closed was of Edward's hands clawing at the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut as his entire body convulsed beneath mine and his breath escaped with a low, growling sound.

When at length I opened my eyes again, it was like a repeat of that morning, with me sprawled over his chest and his cool fingers tracing along my back.

I was still trying to catch my breath. "Wow," was all I could articulate.

"I concur," he murmured. "That was indeed a wow." He tilted my chin up and kissed me softly, once, twice, three times. As he tucked my head back into his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of the dark teak headboard, with two large chunks gouged out of it.

Edward followed my glance, and smiled. "I'll owe Esme a new headboard. At least these pillows survived."

We cuddled a few minutes more, then I said, drowsily, "I should probably take a shower, wash my hair."

"Would you like to explore the island instead, maybe go snorkeling? You can shower afterward." He tilted his head quizzically.

I considered this. "Sounds good."

"When do you want to leave?" he asked.

" As soon as my legs start working again." I snuggled closer as he laughed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

END OF CHAPTER