Ruthless and Ivory (Twilight Fan Fiction)

Chapter 19: Red

Chapter 19 - Red

I don't know what it is about a man with a spatula in his hand that induces an automatic smirk at the corner of your lip. As faint, suppressed or as bold, but it comes to you.

The slight motion of the muscles under his forearm and shoulder blade flexing as the spatula lifts and turns. It's awkward and not exactly the graceful motion a person with more experience would have going about a mundane task. But he does it in his own way. A way that works and just gets it done. Messy or over cooked or not quite right, but done no less. Better things to do.

I'm holding my breath taking in the sight in front of me. I hide. Just enough to witness the hands of a skilled killer using its swift abilities in a domestic task.

Breakfast.

The wafts of grease and eggs and that special inviting warmth of bread being toasted lured me in on tippy toes. It's like he's always been here. Yet, I have never seen it happen...ever. Not in my kitchen. Where I ran around late for work snatching the last granola bar off the bowl with one browning apple, a bobby pin and last weeks take-out receipt sitting in it.

I woke up alone again. Cold sheets behind me and the creeping anxiety, fear, set in when I remembered. I remembered. My lids stung. So quickly. And then he wasn't there. Emotions stirred as the haze of sleep faded with rose colored cheeks and heat... everywhere. What we did. What kept stirring through the night in shadows of a moon-lit room over bare skin and him. Tangled sheets over limbs finding warmth. To meet. Again. Bliss. No sleep. Yet, it wasn't enough.

We fell asleep after his instant push and pull of my back against his chest. He arranged the sheets over me in a tuck. As if to say, done. Spent. No more nonsense or curious fingers and lips. His heart against my damp back. Still, I wanted more.

His breathing evened, softly trickling down my nape. I was glad he didn't keep watch this time. The dark circles under his eyes are too deep. And then I remembered the first time I found him sleeping at my side at the Lab without knowing. Suddenly, feeling his lips against my hair felt just right. Not odd like that time. Like it belongs. Like he looks standing at the stove right now in only his dark pants and a dishtowel over his left shoulder. Nothing else.

God, he's hot. Yes, I said it. Fuck it ...or him. Please and thank you. Fluttering wings in my stomach.

I pick at chipped paint on the wall and wonder how did luck creep in to this fucked up situation I'm living through. I should say surreal, or a nightmare but... it deserves a more satisfying word.

Someone for everyone, though, right? I just never thought I'd see it happen. At least not for me. So, this one just happen to choose me. I don't have to be alone anymore. He doesn't seem to want to find the door and leave me to figure shit out on my own. I wonder what he finds in me. His furrowed brows and eyes closed as he kissed me last night shows how much he wants to stay. I can feel it. Though he'd never say it.

Standing here I just know any woman in my shoes (or barefoot with my favorite night shirt on) would never disagree with this sight. Wide shoulders. The dip at the small of his back down the curve of his full bottom I had my way with shamelessly. The line of his strong spine. The way the curled hair falls at his nape. He moves, and his jaw comes into view. Freshly shaved away the prickles I can still feel on my skin. Having a mysterious, tall, dark, handsome...and dangerous man helping himself in your kitchen the morning after is...

No words.

I wonder when the script ends and credits roll to end this fiction. But it won't. Which is why I can't breathe because it's so real he...