Bella's fingers thread into my hair and she strokes my neck softly, and when I peek at her again, I'm met with a blissed out look on her relaxed features. I take my time worshiping her br**sts, until I feel her nudge my shoulder gently.
“Off, I still need to wash my hair, and you know the snide comments that Alice will fire at me when I try to pass off wearing only mascara as full make-up.”
I don't move a muscle, but her pushing grows more insistent.
“Edward, move it!”
“I don't wanna,” I murmur into her br**sts, making her laugh.
“But we have to, and you know why.”
I really don't, but the fact that it's important for her is enough for me. So I take a last lick at her nipple before I push myself up and help her off the bench. Bella is still somewhat unsteady on her legs, but by the time I've picked everything up to carry into the bathroom for cleaning, she is nearly her usual, sure self again.
“Seriously, biting my leg? Did you have to do that today? I wanted to wear that cute dress that I got a few weeks ago. But I can't very well show up parading this around.”
I glance at where she's pointing, and I have to admit, I'm weirdly happy about the neat set of tooth marks I left at her calf.
“You can't wear that dress anyway.”
“I could have, before you went all hungry caveman on me! Isn't it enough that you f**ked my ass hard enough that I'm likely be sore for days to come?”
Actually no, but I'm wise enough to hold my tongue, and kiss her instead.
She's still reeking of my come, and if I may say so, we're both rather gross right now, covered in sweat, lube, and our juices in way more places than I remember having touched her.
“You didn't protest while I was doing said f**king, Love.” Bella rolls her eyes at me before she pads off towards the bathroom, her butt swaying deliciously in front of me.
“Whatever. Why can't I wear that dress?”
Because I don't want you parading around in front of him wearing an amount of fabric that can’t seriously be considered a dress, but of course I don't say that out loud.
“Because you have light marks on your upper back, and I remember that the dress left you uncovered nearly down to your ass, right?” Where the marks are even worse, but I'm sure that I don't have to worry about anyone but me seeing them—ever.
Bella stops and glances back at me, before she turns around and tries to get a better look at her body in the mirrored walls.
“Seriously? That didn't even really hurt. I mean, compared to what you did to my hoo ha, or my butt.”
No, she didn't – again – I groan inwardly. This is slowly outgrowing the term running gag, and bordering on torture.
“Your what?”
Bella grins back at me over her shoulder.
“My hoo ha.”
“I'm sure that's not a real word.”
“It is, I looked it up, it's in the urban dictionary, so it's technically a word.” And that's the answer from someone who's an English Lit major.
“With what, two entries? Compared to the ten pages of unnecessary explanations for 'cunt' and 'pussy'?”
“I don't care,” she shoots back as she steps into the bathroom. “It's there, so it's a word that's in use. Accept it, I'm right.” I roll my eyes at her but leave it at my mute disapproval for an answer. It's her way of getting back at me for every time I call her my slut or cunt or whatever in the playroom.
While she steps into the shower I clean the butt plug with antibacterial soap, then soak the ropes in a fresh batch of warm, soapy water before I rinse and hang them up to dry. Bella is still busy washing her hair, and it would be a waste to pass up the last opportunity for the evening to grope her.
“Mind if I join you and your hoo ha in there?”
She grins at me as I step into the spray and shakes her head.
“Nope, you and your beaver cleaver are very welcome!” I don't even ask, but instead catch Bella around the waist and pull her close to me, hungrily kissing her mouth. She's laughing by the time I finally let go of her to reach for the body wash, but even though she's already done, she stays with me in the shower.
“You going to be okay tonight?”
“Why shouldn't I be?” I try to shrug her question off, but the way she's looking at me I'm not sure my attempt at nonchalance is working.
“Just asking. We generally don't talk about what happened, but I can't be the only one who's uneasy whenever we meet Alice and Jazz.” I wonder for a moment if her question is really a trap, but then quickly quell the feeling of paranoia trying to rise in me. She's just concerned, and considering the last five times we were out as a group, she's probably got enough cause to wonder what degree of awkwardness there will be this time.
“Nah, I'm good.”
Which is a blatant lie, but what else should I tell her? That I'd rather spend the evening with her, cuddling on the couch? That I even considered looking for a residency position in a hospital thousands of miles away from here, so I could hopefully drag her along? That if I could, I'd try to forbid her from seeing him again? Most of that I could never ask of her, and the rest just makes me seem more of a coward than I am. So lying to her is really the only thing I can do.
As usual I have no idea if she buys it or not, but after a moment she nods and leaves the shower to start the whole primping ritual. I keep staring at her silhouette on the other side of the foggy shower stall walls, not for the first time wondering just how many barriers there are left between us, where there shouldn't be any at all.