Don't Look / No Promises

TWELVE

Bella

Dusk. The sky frosted pink around the edges and the fireflies out and the sun slipped away, the moon in its place.

That was Bella’s favorite time of day.  

The Bird was pulled into the last row at the drive-in, way back by the trees, the big white screen kind of small from this far away and the sound running slow, the actors’ lips one step ahead or twelve steps behind. The speaker was scratchy and warped, the voices droning loud and then soft and then loud all over again, but it didn’t even matter. Bella didn’t even know what movie they were watching. She didn’t even care and couldn’t even be bothered by the fact that she was wasting a whole entire dollar on her ticket.

Who cared about a movie when Edward Cullen had his hands up your skirt and your fingers were in his mouth?

Not her.

Not by a long shot.

He’d beat up Newton in a parking lot across town an hour ago and he looked a little worse for wear, but he was still the handsomest boy she had ever laid eyes on. The swollen lip and the busted eyebrow only made him look a bit more dangerous, and he looked dangerous enough most of the time as it was. He’d ditched the bloody t-shirt, used it to clean up his face, the thinning beater beneath doing very very little to help her keep her hands to herself. Watching him walk toward her through that brawl, through the blood and the beatings like he was some golden angel of war, made her feel a little bad that she hadn’t been back to church in so long.

Maybe God was trying to send her a message, this boy bursting through battle like he was bulletproof or something.

It seemed that her little stunt in the parking lot made her a bit more alluring too. Edward had barely taken his eyes off her since, pulling her to the middle of the seat when they drove away and paying for movie tickets with one hand, barely parking before he launched himself at her, advertisements for candy playing in the background while he breathed into her neck and dug beneath her underwear.

“I want inside,” he whispered. His voice came ragged and rushed and he was already pawing at her clothing, panting down her neck, but there were people everywhere, milling around between the cars and darting off toward the soda fountain that also sold hot dogs and snow cones, which meant they’d get caught.

Surely they’d get caught.

“No. No, we can’t.” She tried to shove his hands away but he was persistent and his mouth felt so good up against hers and he was fingering the folds between her legs like he was playing Mozart and she was just the piano. She gripped the collar of his shirt and tried to focus.

“We can. We should. I want it,” he panted, tucking his slippery fingers deeper. “You want it.”

“I can’t get caught. My dad. The guns,” she reminded him.

“I won’t get you caught,” he groaned.

“You will. You’re loud.”

“You’re loud.” He pulled away, his face accusing.

“That’s your fault,” she said and he instantly smirked.

“I’ll control myself.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.

“Don’t trust me yet, doll? I ain’t ever done you wrong.” He still had his fingers buried and she was still clutching his shirt collar and she still hadn’t had her fill of this boy. Maybe she never would.

“If we do this, you have to help me with something later,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

He nodded.

“You don’t even know what I want yet. It could be dangerous, it could be ridiculous, how can you just agree like that?”

“You’re underestimating.” Now he was shaking his head instead of nodding it.

“Underestimating what?”

“Me,” he said. “The deplorable things I would do for you.” He pinched her viciously, hard and fast at the very top of the slippery slide between her legs and her whole body shivered. “All you gotta do is ask.”  

Edward pulled away, withdrew his wet mouth and his slick fingers and sat back behind the wheel again. She’d messed his hair all up, flopping forward into his face and he slicked it back with both hands, his chest heaving. He caught his lip between his teeth as he started to unbuckle his belt, peeked sly at her a few times, then opened his pants and shoved them down his legs.

C’mere. Come sit on my lap.” He grinned at her, all sex and sneakiness because no one had any idea this boy was sitting there with his pants undone and his dick in his hand like it was nothing, just nothing, to do this in public. Bella flushed bright tomato red, hoping he couldn’t see it in the dark, but the far off lights were bright enough that she could see his bruises and they probably weren’t hiding her blush either.

It was obvious by now that he could talk her into anything.

She edged closer, a little panicky but really really turned on, really, and tried to straddle him, but he stopped her.

“We’re watching a movie, remember?” He winked at her and pointed at the faraway screen with the black and white faces flashing back and forth and back and she didn’t care at all about that damn movie, but she did what he said. Turned to face the screen, draped her legs over his and pressed her bare toes into his boots, his palms under her helping her settle on top of him. He sighed when she hit, rushed his hands up to her tits, and licked her neck.

“Hands on the wheel, doll. Hold on tight.”

---

Edward

She was wearing white. White patterned with tiny little black hearts and it almost did him in, this dress. It hugged every curve and fell right off her shoulders and poofed out in his lap like he was really sitting on a cloud and he had to push it aside to even see her ass pressed snug up against his stomach. Her knuckles were just as pale around the wheel and her breath was coming slow and shallow, but he wasn’t even moving. Not at all. Just sitting there using a good grip on her hip bones to pull her deep and then push her away. Tug her back and then slide her off. Smooth and slow, really fucking slow, so slow it would be hard to tell unless you watched, really watched, and watched for a while because the car wasn’t shaking, just his insides.

Bella squirmed a hand between his thighs and fingered his balls.

He jerked. Thrust. Hard. It was unintentional, a reaction, but fuck, a reaction felt good. He’d only told her to do that a few days ago, the ball thing. She’d been on her knees in the grass and he’d been lounging flat on his back on the seat of the Bird with her mouth wrapped around him and his fingers tangled in her hair. She drug her nose and her lips wet and slick clear down to the base of him and just her breath, just her breathing on him, it had him writhing. He tried to say yes, yes baby, yes, yes please, yes thank you, but he could just pant her name. She must have gotten the message, because his balls were in her mouth and her fist was pumping his cock and the next thing he knew, he was painting his own chest with his spunk.

Edward put his hand firm on the small of Bella’s back and she groaned. Loud.

“Quiet,” he warned, pressing down harder on her clit. She mumbled something and pushed herself upright, rocking her hips against his lap in a languid spiral. He wrapped his arm around her waist, burrowing beneath the fabric on a blind hunt for her slit and when he found it, finally, she fell forward against the steering wheel, more groaning, even louder. Edward pulled her off the wheel and slipped his hand over her mouth, his chest hammering up against her back and the shell of her ear right there at his mouth.

He pushed up, pushed forward, pushed deeper, and hummed in her ear. “Look at you... so fucking naughty, sitting on my dick in the middle of all these people,” he whispered. “I’ve ruined you.”

He sent her off for an ice cream afterward. Postcoital sweet tooth. Watched her run between the cars with her ponytail bouncing and that dress of hers kind of crumpled in the back from his hands. She was the fucking cutest thing around by far, for miles, clear to the sea and then even beyond that. Maybe the cutest thing on the whole entire planet and she’d been on him just moments ago. Him.

Him.

What a lucky bastard . . .

Edward lit a cigarette and it only took him thirty seconds but, when he looked back for her, the vermin had already struck. He was leaning up against the counter with his face too close to Bella and his hands just itching to touch her, Edward knew it.

Twitchy fingers, that Teddy boy.

Edward recognized him from the hallways at school, one of the upper echelon that crowded around their lockers and looked down on everyone who walked by. Money kids. They wore patterned socks and rolled their corduroys up around their ankles to show them off. Bow ties and pocket watches and big thick rimmed glasses, even when they didn’t need them, and they didn’t even drink. Stone cold sober, quoting dead dudes, but they didn’t even read Salinger. Edward didn’t read much, but that just seemed like blasphemy, ditching J.D. for Archimedes, picking Plato over Vonnegut. Edward usually had a greasy rag in his back pocket but these kids used embroidered handkerchiefs and they didn’t need those suspenders like he did either, their tailoring affordable instead of luxurious.

“What he say to you?” Edward asked when Bella plopped back into the Bird and handed him a dripping cone.

“Nothing really,” Bella shrugged, licking her ice cream, that pretty pink tongue flashing him.

“No, really. What did he say?”

Bella looked at him with a sharp face. “He asked my name and if I went to Public.” Her frown slipped suddenly, a sly grin crossing her face. “Why, Edward Cullen, are you jealous?”

“I got nothing to worry about,” he grumbled, licking his own cone.

When they pulled out of their spot a few minutes later, just before the end credits rolled, to miss the rush, that Teddy was standing under a light by the soda fountain, leaning up against a pole with a smug look on his face, watching as they drove by.

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