Hands on Me (A Twilight Fanfiction written by IndependentIndividuality)

Chapter Two: In Which Humiliation Comes in the Form of Eggshells

DISCLAIMER: I DID NOT WRITE THIS DO NOT SUE ME, I WILL CRY

Chapter Two: In Which Humiliation Comes in the Form of Eggshells

and I won't pretend i understand.

- +44, little death

-

I looked at the contrast of our skin, russet against alabaster, as his large hand slid up my leg, leaving trails of fire in its wake. The scene around us was constantly in flux: First Beach, his bedroom at La Push, the forest floor, and the most frequent scene, the hood of the Rabbit. He ran his nose slowly over my jaw line and across my cheekbones, my breath coming out in short, irregular bursts. He chuckled against my neck and my body moved of its own accord, rising up to meet his. I could feel the heat from his body, even through his shirt, and I grasped at it for purchase as I tried to pull myself upwards, to meet the lips now out of my reach.

He lifted me onto the hood of the Rabbit, and I lay back to look at him, breathless. He stared down at me with a look I didn't understand in his eyes, and then he was on top of me, and his hands were everywhere: My legs, my arms, my neck, my sides – hardly any part of me left untouched, yet I was still unsatisfied. His hair hung in shining black curtains around us and I couldn't help but run my fingers through it, push it back from his face so I could see him more clearly in the moonlight. It was soft under my fingers like I knew it would be, like I had felt a thousand times before, but this was different.

He leaned forward, slowly, impossibly slowly, and our noses touched. I wanted to reach forward, close the final inch, but I waited. His opened his mouth to speak and his breath came out in hot gasps that I could taste on my tongue, like aftershave and pine trees and October and –

"Nessie."

My heart stopped.

"Nessie!"

My eyes flew open. It took me a second to realize I wasn't dreaming anymore, because the face above me now was the same face from the dream. I did realize, though, and my heart stuttered back into action, working double time. I gasped and nearly flew back on the bed.

My palms automatically turned over to grip the sheets – traitors. He hadn't touched them, had he? Oh, no, what if he had? What if he had seen . . .

"J-Jacob?"

I paused to analyze him, to make sure he didn't know. He didn't look any different than usual – maybe a little worried, but not repulsed or disgusted or amused. And definitely not breathless and dark-eyed like the Dream Jacob had been as he leaned forward –

"Nessie, are you all right?"

He came to sit on the edge of the bed and flinched when I scooted further away. My legs were clenched together; there was a tightness in my stomach I couldn't understand, and I . . . felt strange. Really strange. The foreign feelings hadn't left when the dream had.

Jacob seemed to check himself for a moment, but then reached his large hand out to rub my neck. It was something he had done a hundred times before, a thousand even, and now it was different. Why?

"Renesmee, look at me."

My eyes flew up at my full name. He never called me by it. But there was something else – the Alpha voice. I told myself that it was only natural my stomach should clench harder at the sound of his voice, only because I was nervous, and nothing at all to do with anything else.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, softer this time. His eyes were warm and brown, darker than mine, almost black, but not anywhere near as dark . . . I let my thought trail, I shouldn't be thinking such things.