Honeymoon — Esme Island, Brazil
The night was absurdly silent. The sea stretched dark and calm in front of the white house, and the warm breeze of the island carried the smell of salt and tropical flowers. The windows were open, the curtains floating lazily. Everything there seemed out of time - or perhaps too eternal to belong to time.
She entered the room wearing only a light, white silk nightgown, her bare feet against the wooden floor. The heart beat too fast for someone who was already yours.
Edward was by the window, his pale skin shining under the moon, his eyes fixed on the horizon - or pretending to be.
She knew he felt it. I knew he heard every beat of her heart, every failed breath, every accelerated thought. And even so... he was still there, motionless, as if fighting against desire was part of his nature.
“Are you avoiding me, Edward?” She asked, her voice soft and full of intention.
He didn’t answer right away. Then he turned slowly, his golden eyes shining under the light.
“I’m not avoiding you. I’m... trying to resist.”
She smiled, approaching. “Resist what?”
He looked at her as if she were sin and redemption. As if heaven and hell mixed between her bare shoulders.
“You know exactly what.”
She stopped inches from him. She put her hand on his chest, cold and motionless. But it was only on the surface - inside, she knew, he burned.
“You promised me tonight, Edward.”
He closed his eyes, as if those words were a knife. “I know.”
“So why are you so scared?”
“Because...” he brushed his fingers on her waist, almost without touching her. “...I’ve never wanted anything so intensely. And if I lose control...”
“So lose it.”
He opened his eyes, and in them there was no more doubt. Just hunger. Admiration. And love. So much love that seemed to overflow.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.
She slid her hands down the back of his neck, pulling him close. The lips millimeters from his.
“I’ve been dreaming about this night for years. And you still think I’m the one who doesn’t understand?”
He moaned low, a mixture of agony and worship. And then... he gave in.
His lips took hers with a wild bow. The hands slid through her hot skin, holding it firmly, but still with that careful touch, as if she were glass - and he was about to break together.
The walls of the room seemed to disappear. The moon entered through the window as a silent witness of the old desire finally consummated.
Edward Cullen, the man who spent centuries resisting everything, finally allowed himself to feel. To be touched. To be loved.
And she... was the only poison he wanted to take.