Little Green & Easybella 25

(BELLA)

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispers so low, if I didn't feel his breath fanning my neck I could not even tell if he actually uttered anything. It's the first thing he has said since we have snuggled up to each other in his three quarter bed, sans clothes.

Well, come to think of it, I didn't speak much either. I was touched when he told me that he trusts me, but I didn't really know how to respond. His sudden declaration seemed a little disjointed. It's not like I'm taking his trust for granted, but the way he made it sound as if he just had an epiphany of sorts was surprising, to say the least. But then again, when did Edward ever not surprise me?

He didn't mean to launch any discussion anyway. He just got up from the bench and headed for the bedroom, clasping the heavy comforter around his hips with one hand and dragging it along behind himself like the train of a robe. I followed him, glad at not having to think of a smart reply. And the silence wasn't uncomfortable at all.

We made a stop at the fridge where he drank a glass of orange juice in one go. I admired the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he threw his head back and downed the last gulps of the much needed liquid. In his bedroom, he immediately crawled onto the mattress and turned around to settle back against the headboard.

Then he just looked at me, the green orbs of his eyes shining in his otherwise downright blank face. He neither offered a smile, nor were there any more signs of his earlier dismay. He just patiently waited for me to follow suit and get naked like I had said I would.

He kept his eyes trained on me while I stripped in front of him. There was nothing sexual about the situation and I didn't make a show of it. I had found him bare and vulnerable like a lost soul in the dark, and getting naked myself just seemed to be the right thing to do... like you would instinctively crouch down in front of a crying child to get at eye level with them as you soothe them.

Once I was rid of all my clothes, he wordlessly lifted the comforter to invite me in. When I climbed into the bed, he slid down and shoved the only pillow under my head before nestling up to me. With a heartfelt sigh bordering on a moan, he pulled me close and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I gently held his head, occasionally toying with a lock of his hair as I waited for him to get ready to speak.

Apparently, now is the time.

"Yes, I'd like to stay with you," I answer his question. "Are you warmer now?"

"Much," he replies. "Inside and out."

Hearing him say that makes me smile. With him, I know it's not just a shallow word play.

"Good. Will you tell me now what happened today?"

"Yes." Abruptly, he slips out from under my arm and sits up. "I think we should look at each other when I'm telling you, so you can see that I'm... sincere."

I prop myself up on one elbow. "I know you are sincere, Edward," I assure him.

"Okay." He nods thoughtfully, and that signature crease between his brows deepens as he tries to get his thoughts into order. This is so very Little Green.

"Don't stress yourself over how to begin," I encourage. "Just start anywhere you want. I'm sure I can keep up."

"Spillage," he blurts. "I can't stand it."

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.

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(A TRAILER PARK... SOMEWHERE, 1998)

The four-year-old boy was squatting under the trailer, naked except for a sweaty pajama top. His little hands were resting on his knees, and his earnest green eyes rested on his hands. He liked to look at them even though they were sore and pink; he liked the symmetry.

He was careful not to bend his fingers, so as not to make the lesions burst and bleed again. Being still was no trouble for him; it was easy. He had been in this crouching position for the last thirty minutes, unmoving and watching his tiny knuckles slowly scab. Now he waited for them to heal. The boy knew his hands would heal eventually, just like they had the last time and the time before. He just couldn't remember how long it would take; any sense of time was beyond him.

He could hear the sound of the TV blaring through the open trailer window. It was some stupid dialogue from a stupid sitcom, mingled with those fake eruptions of laughter. He didn't catch the words, but hearing those voices babble on meant that his mommy was planted safely on the couch, which in turn meant she wouldn't come looking for him for quite a while.

Maybe she wouldn't even come looking for him before his hands had healed? That would be awesome. Or maybe she would get tired again, like she often did when she drank many bottles of those mommy-only-juices. In that case she wouldn't even remember he was there, which would be really, really awesome.

He would just wait down here until dark, peacefully and in silence. He had no sense of time, but he knew that by the time it gets dark his pajama bottoms would be dry and they all would be safe again... if the cee-pee-ess lady came, she would see nothing.

He didn't know who the cee-pee-ess lady was, but he was very afraid of her nonetheless. She was his very own version of the monster in the closet, because he knew that she could show up any time and take him away. Because that's what she did with filthy little retards like him who still wet their pants or couldn't drink a single glass of milk without spilling on their clothes. His mommy told him so.

"When the CPS lady gets wind of you filthy little bug, she will come and take you away, and it will be your own fault."

And that's why she always made him wash his clothes immediately, so the cee-pee-ess lady wouldn't see the mess he made. Mommy even had a special plastic tub that she'd fill with cold water and soap, and then she would stand by and watch him scrubbing and rubbing at the fabric between his small fists, all the while railing at him.

"Once the CPS lady sees you, she will take you to the asylum where they lock in all the filthy kids. They will be mean to you, you know? And what will you say to them, huh? Oh right, you won't say a thing. Little Mr. Spillage is too dumb to speak..."

Most of the time, her words didn't even make sense to the boy, and not just because she was usually slurring. Words just didn't make much sense to him in general. But he had caught enough to be truly afraid of the cee-pee-ess lady and the asylum, and so he kept scrubbing with numb fingers until she declared she was sick and tired of watching him and finally left him alone.

For now he was safe. He was comfortable here in his hiding place. His pajama bottoms were clean and almost dry, his knuckles were scabbed-over and healing. Also, mommy's friend wouldn't return today, which was good, too. Because the only times the boy would still wet his pants were the times when mommy's friend was around... especially when mommy's friend poked his little arm and laughed like he had done this morning.

"I asked you a question, you little maggot, answer me!"

But the boy couldn't remember hearing any question, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known how to answer.

After that the friend had got into a fight with mommy like always, and the boy somehow understood it was about him, which was one more reason for the cee-pee-ess lady to take him away. That was when he felt it, hot and wet, running down his legs.

But mommy's friend wouldn't return today. So it was all good. Tired and exhausted from willing his fingers to heal, the boy finally gave in to the growing fatigue and rolled onto his side, carefully keeping his hands on his knees. He was sure they'd be whole again when he woke up.

.

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(BELLA)

All the fuss about a spilled milkshake? Really?

"Why can't you stand it?

He shrugs. "I don't really know. I always hated it. It just freaks me out; I don't remember why."

"I thought you never forget things."

"I forgot you," he says remorsefully.

"Yes, but we know why that happened and that it wasn't..." I falter, trying to fight back the anger welling up as I think of Esme's betrayal and that card box full of letters. "It was a very extreme situation."

"Yes," he agrees. "And I remember everything now. Everything."

I smile at him. "That makes me very happy."

"But there's a certain... threshold in my memory, some point in time where my remembering starts. It's like a barrier and I somehow cannot look back past it. My earliest memory is from when I was six. Anything before that is just... gone, so... I don't know... it's weird."

"That's ok. Many people have little to no memories of their early childhood."

"I just don't want you to think that I'm holding anything back from you."

He looks so troubled that soothing him with another platitude like 'it's ok' and 'I don't mind' is really tempting, but I know he is serious about this.

So I say, "I appreciate that; thank you."

To my delight, I am rewarded with a timid smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"You're welcome," he whispers, and I'm melting a little inside.

I cup his face to steal a kiss on the mouth from him, and his lips and tongue respond without hesitation. I should be used to it by now, but the sudden rush of heat and blissful weakness that kissing Edward evokes in me takes me once again by surprise. I even let go a pathetic little whimper when he breaks the kiss and straightens up again. Geez...

"Maybe one day you can talk to someone professional, you know, to help you recover those early memories?" I manage to ask when my wits return after a few deep breaths.

"I'm not sure I want that."

Okay...

I clear my throat. "So, it was all about the spilled milkshake?"

"In part, yes. I felt like freaking out and the first thing I thought to do was to go home and get rid off the sticky clothes. But there was more -"

"Wait," I cut in as a sudden flashback hits me. "I recall something about you and uhm... spillage, I think. Do you remember the day I when I almost had a heart attack because I thought you had drowned in the pool?"

He gasps. "You thought I had drowned? No, I... when?"

"I hadn't kept my eyes on you for just a second or so, I don't know. We were in the garden that day. Anyway, when I looked up, you were gone. And your clothes were lying in a heap next to the pool. I panicked because I swear, in my mind I already saw your lifeless body floating in the water. But thank God, when I checked the pool, it was empty. So I went looking for you everywhere, but-"

"I was in the closet."

"Yes, you were. And you were curled up into a ball and shaking. You were totally freaking out because you had accidentally spilled juice on your sweater!"

"Cherry juice," he confirms, again with his impeccable memory. "I was out of my mind there for a moment."

"Was it the same today? Were you like trying to hide from me?"

He shakes his head no. "I wasn't trying to hide from you back then neither. I was just... hiding. I don't know why. I left the closet immediately when I saw it was you, remember?"

"Yes, that is true. And you calmed down quickly after I had put your clothes into the washer."

"I calmed down when you cleaned me up," he says. "You washed my hair that day."

"I did?"

His gaze softens and he lies down next to me, mirroring my position and leaning on one elbow with his head resting in his palm. My breath hitches a little, from the sudden proximity and the way his eyes hold mine.

"You washed my hair and sang to me. And you gave me my secret name that day. When I saw you again on Saturday, this was one of the first memories that came back to me."

I need to let my head sink onto the pillow and lie down to wait for the butterflies in my stomach to settle, before I can say anything. He follows suit, again mirroring my move and facing me.

"I remember," I finally whisper and put my palm against his chest.

In the light of this new insight, I also look differently at some of the most recent events, like the fuss he made about cleaning my bed sheets, or how hard-wired his mind was on washing my legs after we got carried away on the kitchen floor.

"I'll try to remember that spilled liquids are still an issue for you," I promise. "I'm sorry that I laughed about it."

He covers my hand with his own. "I forgive you," he simply says.

With any other man, I would immediately check for signs of arrogance or sarcasm if he said something like that instead of the usual placation. But not with Little Green. He just tells it like it is. He didn't get my amusement at his misfortune in the car and was hurt, but he doesn't hold it against me and he doesn't want me to feel sorry.

So he forgives me. All good, right?

Surprisingly, his declaration actually makes me feel better. "I'm glad. Thank you."

He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. One or two butterflies in my stomach decide they're still good for another round of fluttering.

"You know," he says between knuckle-kissing, "I do get the concept that clumsiness and spillage and things knocked over and such is funny for most people. It's like the Three Stooges, when they throw pies into each others' faces." He stops kissing and furrows his brows. "But I assure you that a pie in my face would freak me out just as much."

"I'll try to remember that, too," I say, trying hard not to laugh this time.

He notices my distress, but to my relief he doesn't take offense but grins at me. "That was funny, right? What I just said?"

"Yes, it was," I giggle.

"Because you would never throw a pie in my face?"

I snort. "Chances are virtually zero." He chuckles quietly in response, and my heart jumps for joy, seeing him so lighthearted. "Okay, no laughing at spillage accidents, no pies in your face. Anything else?"

"Yes, there's more," he answers, suddenly serious again. Our still joined hands come to rest on the sheet between us as he bites his bottom lip, searching for words.

"My soaked shirt was uncomfortable, but really... I'm no longer a child and I wouldn't have freaked out like I did if it had been just that."

"Okay..." I say, encouraging him to continue.

"I felt so stupid. I didn't get you, you know. What you said and did in the car... I didn't get that you were just kidding until you laughed. I took you seriously; I was totally taken in. I even... when you touched me and said you wanted to do it right then... the milkshake wasn't the only thing spilled. You were just joking with me, but I thought you meant it, so I got too excited and came in my pants. And then you laughed, and I felt so stupid."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. He thought I was just messing with him? Crap, is he even serious?

"I shouldn't have asked you in the first place," he continues to berate himself. "That was just... stupid, too. Of course, you don't have to take my penis in your mouth, but I didn't know you were kidding. That's almost the worst thing about it, you know, that I didn't get you. Actually, it happens quite a lot since I've got you back. It's not like when we were kids; it's different now... complicated."

Wow!

"But of course, I get it now. I still don't personally find it funny, but I get the concept of this kind of humor and, well... no pies in my face, no cum in your mouth, right?" He smiles wryly.

Pretty much rendered speechless, the only thing I can think right now is, 'What a clusterfuck!' And the only thing I can think of doing right now is pulling him in a tight embrace. And so we hold each other, arms winding around waists and necks, legs entangled like a pretzel.

"I'm just glad we were alone in the car and I didn't embarrass you in front of anyone," he mutters.

"Oh my God, Edward!"

I can't stand it any longer. It's time for me to speak, even though I haven't sorted everything out in my mind yet.

"Listen to me! First of all, you could never ever embarrass me in front of anyone. And you don't need to bend over backwards to be someone you are not. Because to me, you are..."

I was going to say 'perfect', but he won't buy that.

"... you are my person, just the way you are. I don't want it any other way, okay?"

He swallows hard and I can feel him nod yes against my neck.

"Okay," I continue, "and second, I was not kidding. I was like, you know, teasing you a little, but that's something different. I was being playful, but I meant every word I said."

His head jerks up and he looks at me incredulously. "Really?"

"Really really," I assure him. "And I loved that you asked me. I lovedthat you were turned on because I took that sausage into my mouth... I mean... that was what made you ask, right?"

He nervously licks his lips before he answers, "Yes. How do you know? Just thinking of it makes me..."

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. I can feel what thinking of it is making him. I can feel the result twitch against my belly.

"I know," I tell him. "And I love it. When you talked to me like that and I saw your erection, I was so aroused; you have no idea. I meant every word I said, teasing or not. And when I laughed, it was only in part because of the milkshake stunt you pulled, but much more because I was so elated about the effect I had on you. It was really... fucking hot!"

"Fucking hot?" he repeats, still bewildered. But there's a smile trying to steal itself onto his face, as comprehension slowly sets in.

"Abso-fucking-lutely hot!" I confirm.

"Fuck..." he mutters. His breathing has become a little labored.

"You can say that. You want me to prove my point?" I sneak my hand down between our bodies, his happy trail directing me.

"I believe you," he says. "You don't have to... ohhh..."

My fingertips have merely brushed the tip, yet he jerks and gasps at my touch. Seeing his strong response is a huge turn on; I involuntarily squeeze my legs together. Wrapping my hand around the base of his cock, I tease, "So you believe me now, huh? Do you want me to stop?"

"Fu... I mean, no... please..." he whispers.

His eyes are still glued to mine, wide open, and I love how they seem to darken with desire.

"Say it," I dare him. "I like it when you swear."

"I don't even know why I want to say such words when you touch me like this. I... I should tell you how good it feels instead, but it's like a compulsion."

"Please don't hold back. It's kinda hot when you swear because it means that I'm doing this right." I pump him a few times and he draws in a sharp breath.

"Or this..." I swirl my palm around the head, gingerly first but a more firmly as I notice the bit of precum that's already there.

"Yes," he breathes.

He is so hard for me; he feels amazing. The knowledge that I am doing this to him is intoxicating. I'm getting high on the feel of the velvety texture of his skin in my hand, the heat, the faint pulsing. I want to see his beautiful cock. I want to pleasure him. I want to taste him.

I want him in my mouth. Now.

With the slightest push against his hip, I make him roll onto his back easily. I whip off the comforter, rest my head on his chest and just enjoy the view for a moment; he is as pretty down there as I remembered. Forming a ring with my thumb and index finger I resume my stroking, mesmerized by the sight of the glistening, pink head slipping in and out of his foreskin. It has my lady bits throbbing.

Edward's breathing has turned into panting; his hands which lost their hold on me as I rolled us over, are like frozen mid-air near to my shoulders.

"You like that, don't you?" I ask unnecessarily, but he grants me a husky 'yes' anyway. I scoot a littler higher, until I can lay my cheek close to his.

"Let's look at it together," I say. I have no idea where this bold persona is coming from, other than that this beautiful man is bringing my inner goddess out with his mere presence.

He lifts his head the tiniest bit to look down on himself and a dark groan ripples through him.

"Doesn't it look perfect?" I whisper. "It's beautiful, right? Oh God, see how beautiful we are together..."

This time I only get a nod and a quiet little moan. I'm beyond excited and turned on myself. The precum has worn off a little, so I bring my hand to my mouth and spit on it before I reach down again and circle my now slick palm over his glans.

"Bella..." he moans, and finally his hands are on my neck and shoulders again.

"Does this feel good?" I ask with my lips against his ear. "I want to know what feels good for you, love. I want you to show me. Can you do that?"

" I don't know... everything you do feels good, I can't even... just do what you want... anything..."

Well, I certainly know what I want to do. Who knew I would ever cravegiving a blow job like this. I slowly scoot down on him, kissing and licking a wet path along his torso. When I slip out from under his hands, his arms fly up and he rakes his fingers through his hair. There they stay, gripping two fistfuls of strands, as he looks at me wide-eyed.

His hips jerk as I place kisses on each of his hip-bones, down the lines of his 'V' and the sensitive insides of his thighs, deliberately avoiding his now twitching erection. I sit back on my heels between his legs, grab his cock again and look up at his face. His jaw has gone slack and his eye-lids are half-closed. He is panting harder now and his gaze is intense, half hidden under his long lashes, but even more clouded by unadulterated lust.

I catch myself rubbing my throbbing clit against my right heel. Jesus, I am dripping down there. I feel weak and powerful at the same time. Shit, does that even make sense? It's like I can hear my own blood rushing through my veins. I might be salivating at this point.

I bend forward and draw the tip of my tongue along the underside of his penis, from the base up to that sensitive little band of flesh right under the head. Edward arches his back and gives a few sharp gasps. When I look up again, both of his hands are clutching the headboard behind him. I feel compelled to inform him that...

"… I want to make you come with my mouth."

"Fuck!"

Score!

I moisten my lips and then wrap them around just the tip, sucking lightly. More gasps, and more hips bucking... I even hear the headboard creaking once. I hope he won't break it, even though the idea is kind of erotic for some reason.

I move my mouth up and down on the head a bit, never making it quite past the sensitive ridge. I swirl my tongue around every time I move upwards, reveling in the way it makes him squirm. God, I want to see his face...

With a quiet plop I release him and peek through the curtain of my hair. That's when I realize that he probably cannot see a thing, which is a pity. I could tell he enjoyed watching when I had my hand on him earlier.

"Can you hold my hair, baby? I want you to watch what I'm doing. Would you like that?" Have I ever felt that bold and confident before?

"Oh yes," comes his raspy reply. He lets go of the headboard and starts stroking my hair out of my face and bundling it up into a ponytail, his hands taking turns at holding it together at the back of my head in a tight fist. He keeps doing this - running his palms up on my temples, my forehead, the nape of my neck – until he is sure that not a single lock has escaped him.

He is clasping my makeshift ponytail in one hand now, and stroking my cheek with the other, watching me almost reverently. And when I lower my mouth again, I feel him give my hair a brief, excited tug. I don't know if he even noticed what he just did, but I do know that it's one of the most erotic things ever!

I'm still rubbing myself on my heel for some much needed friction. I'm so turned on it's not even funny. This time, I take... well, not all of him but as much of him as possible. Even though my gag reflex thankfully borders on zero, I still can work the base of his erection with my hand after my lips glided down the shaft as far as they would go. Then I go all the way up again, hollowing my cheeks and twirling my tongue.

Edward's breath mingles with quiet noises of pleasure each time he exhales. He's getting more vocal by the minute, and I'm done teasing. I start bobbing my head in earnest now, and a big groan erupts from his chest.

"Fuck," he moans. And again, "Fuck..." His hand falls from my cheek and searches for mine where I'm holding his hipbone. Our fingers entwine in a tight grip, and oh God... he is pulling my hair! A strong feeling of power surges through me, as he gasps out more expletives, each one hitting my insides like a hot shockwave.

"Fuck, Bella... goddamn... fuck, fuck, fuck, ffff... oh... oh ffffuuuuck...!"

Just when I think I might orgasm myself any moment, I'm brought back from my high by hot spurts hitting the back of my throat and a sharp pain on my scalp. He throws his head back and gives a loud roar of sorts. If I didn't know that it's a sound of pure pleasure, I might think he just got stabbed in the heart...

Jesus, that was quick!

I swallow rapidly, but some bits make it onto the back of my tongue anyway and I can't help but grimace a little at the salty taste. Definitely not as 'yummy' as I was hoping. But oh, to see him lose control like that was so worth it!

I plant a last kiss on his softening penis, making him jump, and smile to myself. Sensitive, is it?

"Edward, could you let go of my hair now, please?"

He does so immediately, at the same time releasing my slightly tortured fingers from his death grip. Both his hands fall limply to either side of him. I straighten up and marvel at the beautiful man in front of me, the way his closed eyelids flutter, the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to catch his breath. I did that!

"How do you feel?" I whisper, and his eyes fly open.

In true Little Green manner, he thinks about it for a moment. And of course, being his adorable self, he doesn't come up with any dutiful praise like 'fantastic' or 'amazing'. When he's done deliberating, he says, "I'm feeling out of it. I don't even think I could walk right now."

"Does that mean, it was as good as you imagined it in your fantasies?"

"God, no... I couldn't have imagined this!" he says, shaking his head. "Not in my wildest dreams. It was unbelievable. You are unbelievable."

There. A compliment at last...

I flash him a bright smile. I cannot keep a smug face for the life of me; he is just too endearing, flushed face, bed hair and all. Also, renewed life seems to be returning to his limbs. Well, to some of them anyway. He reaches out one hand to me and I gladly take it, giving a little squeeze.

"Bella, was it... did you enjoy this, too?"

I don't have the heart to tell him that I would have appreciated a little warning, to be honest. Not now anyway. I fully intend to practice in the future, like, a lot. So for now, I'm just going to show him how much I enjoyed it, because... hell yes, I did.

I get up on my knees and guide his hand between my legs. "Can you feel this? How wet I am? That is how much I enjoyed it."

"Fuck, Bella..." he sighs.

"Good?"

"God, yes!" He pulls his hand back, and I almost whimper as I watch him put his index and middle finger into his mouth.

"Do you know what's also good about this?" I inquire.

Still sucking on his fingers, he shakes his head no. I giggle at the sight. He looks like the proverbial kid who just had his hand in the cookie jar.

"Look!" I say cheerfully, grazing my fingertip along his now flaccid cock.

He raises his brows questioningly. "What?"

I grin at him.

"No spillage!"