Text Size Large SizeMedium SizeSmall Size    Color Scheme Black SchemeWhite SchemeGrey SchemePaper Scheme        

Mr. Cullen

Isabella Swan has a good life, ‘good’ being the key word. Her life is just fine and ordinary. But will her world be turned upside down when she gets a job working as a PA for Hollywood’s latest darling? And is he as cold as he seems? First impressions can be very deceiving indeed. Photobucket(Please note its rated adult for a reason. The story contains adult humour, some strong language, and it will have sexual scenes in later chapters.) Chapter 16 is up!

Disclaimer: All the wonderful characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

13. A Worried Mind

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1962   Review this Chapter

I’ve had a few defining moments in my life: Getting left behind, Jasper saving my ass the first time, Emmett punching me, first day of drama club, getting discovered in a shitty, dust filled theatre, hearing my first ‘And cut’, standing on a stage receiving my first Golden Globe and thanking God I turned it all around. These were the moments that changed my life, shaped who I was to become and made me who I am. But the moment I kissed Bella was by far the most significant.

The first touch of my lips on hers and I was a goner. I could never go back to who I was before her, not that I wanted to. Bella had become so important, and now I was sure that if she told me to jump, I would simply ask her ‘How high?’ without a moment’s hesitation. I was damn right pussy-whipped.

But, God all mighty, I knew she would taste good, and she did. Every part of my body strained to get closer to her; all of my nerve endings tingled from where her little hands touched me. I wanted her so much, wanted to kiss her until we fainted, wanted to move on top of her and rub myself all over her delicious body. The need to undress her and tangle about the bed naked was complete mind-fuckery. But the worse thing was trying to hold back—because I had to, she wasn’t in any state to be manhandled by me— it was physically painful to kiss her plump lips and not get a hard on. My brain was going fucking insane. I tried to not think about what I was doing, because if I did, I was going to get wood the size of fucking Mount Everest, and that was shitty. There she was, lying on my bed, still in pieces from whatever that bloody asshole did to her, and my cock could only think about finding some way to rip her PJ bottoms off and push inside her softness. I couldn’t have that. I only wanted to make her feel better. The stubborn being in my pants that kept twitching left and right would make her feel uncomfortable. Un-fucking-acceptable.

So I trailed gentle kisses, because she deserved them, keeping things as innocent as possible, and even though in some ways it was near impossible, in others it wasn’t. Bella was delicate, ever so tiny; she had to be touched with care and affection, and damn me if I didn’t try. I sucked slowly on her bottom lip, taking all the time in the world to soak up all her little moans and the delectable way she sighed into my mouth. I let my hands ghost over her luscious body, memorizing by touch the contours of her waist, arms, neck and face. But, even though I wanted to be soothing, I also wanted to show her how much I had hungered to be this close to her. How every night— since that evening in front of her apartment—just the memory of her made me spend hours in the bathroom taking care of the consequence of thinking about her naked, half-naked, or even fully clothed in those naughty outfits she liked wearing so much.

I swear she does it just to torture me and see how far my self control will hold out for... someday it might snap and I might fuck her senseless behind a door... No, of course I would never do that to Bella. Instead I would spread her on my bed; kiss every inch of her downy skin, all the while whispering to her how beautiful she was. And then I would try to make fireworks go off for her, make her feel good using my hands, cock, and tongue. God, I couldn’t wait for the moment when I would be able to make love to her.

It would take a while, she was still so shaken up from ending it with numbnuts, I was sure she wouldn’t want to go into a relationship any time soon, but I’d be damned if I let her cry over the dumbass. There was really one thing to do: make her forget him completely, maybe I could achieve that. My kisses seemed to have made her happy and that was all that I really wanted; Bella smiling and ecstatic with life. So I kept kissing her, not letting my tongue touch hers. It would take Herculean strength to pull me away from her if that happened. I could already see myself ripping her clothes, nibbling all that bare soft skin... Shit, those tiny rose-coloured peaks that were screaming to be bitten.

Holy fuckery! The imagery is not helping, moron.

The damn voice in my head—the one who usually called me a dickhead, moron, douchebag, etc.—was also telling me that kissing Bella was an idiotic move. Nothing good could ever come from a relationship with me, so kissing Bella was just downright stupid. I couldn’t give her what she wanted, I would never be able to come up to scratch and be the man someone like her deserved.

And if it wasn’t enough that I was as shitty a person as I could get, there was also the problem of my day job. If I was with Bella pictures would be taken and she would have to live a life she’d never asked for. Could I put her through fucked up ordeals just because I wanted her? I don’t think I would ever forgive myself if those fucking dimwits on Tv criticised something she wore or said, if they made snide comments about her perfect body or lovely hair. What if they followed her around, snapping pictures of her getting groceries, going shopping? Bella would never be able to leave the house again without bodyguards; she wouldn’t be able to go out with Brainless Barbie without having to worry if someone was hiding behind a bush with a camera. Her every move would be documented, her personal life made a mockery of, people on the street would approach her and talk to her as if they knew her well. And she would be uncomfortable with all the attention, she was shy and sweet— definitely not an extrovert— things like talking to strangers wouldn’t come easy to her. The life I live is all different shades of fucked up and crazy. I can’t ever take a day off, even when I’m on holiday, to the world I’m always Edward Cullen, and I can’t very well take a holiday from being me. And Bella’s life would be the same, perhaps without the fanatical girl screams and panty-throwing incidents, but completely changed, nonetheless. And what if it takes to be too much and she decides to leave? All the public attention could make her decide that I wasn’t worth it, and I knew I wasn’t, but when that time came she would leave me... what would I do, then? Oh, God...

But that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. What about her job? She would have to quit. I wouldn’t want her to feel inferior to me, and as an employee there was no way around it. Not only that, but she would start resenting the fact that she had to do things when I decided I wanted them done. The power of the relationship would be mine and I would hate it. If we were going forward with this then I wanted her to be my equal, just like it should be. I wanted her to be able to tell me to go fuck myself when I’m being an inconsiderate fucktard. But if she quits then I’ll rarely get to see her. Shit. I’ll be away nine months out of the year in locations scattered around the world, sometimes too far for her to visit or for me to come back to L.A., and the other three months would be spent doing stupid interviews, press junkets and the usual media rounds. Would she feel lonely when I’m not there? She doesn’t really have any friends except Blondie and perhaps the Mental Midget, and they sure as Hell wouldn’t be any help when things got tough, they would probably tell her to dump my ass and be done with it. Crap, crap, crap.

I pulled Bella closer to me, wanting to feel her everywhere. The thoughts going through mind were destroying my freaking peace of mind, but I tried to keep things light. I wouldn’t want to taint this morning with anything but good memories. For goodness’ sake, it was hard to keep a lid on all the crazy thoughts...

I couldn’t help but think that the relationship would always be strained; Bella would never be able to relax and be her wonderful self. Would she have to give up her dreams to be with me? She probably wanted to get married. I never saw myself as a married man, but then again I never thought I would find someone to love. Fuck everything and everyone, how in hell was I meant to act like a devout husband if I wasn’t sure I would even be able to be a good boyfriend to her? All these questions were doing my head in, but I didn’t have the option of not thinking about them. When the time came to propose would I be able to give her a normal marriage? It was insanity to think my schedule would allow for lively breakfasts or quiet lunches together every day, or that when I took her to diner that we wouldn’t be attacked by swarms of teenagers and their equally crazed moms.

Even if we stayed together through the insane fans, the criticizing bitches on TV, my long periods of absence, what would happen when we wanted to start a family? I would never have the time to take care of a baby, and I know Bella would want one. Sure, I would be able to provide for it, but it isn’t all about material crap like golden cribs and fancy baby strollers. It would require attention and love and all that shit children need. I wouldn’t want it to have the childhood I had. And did I really want to bring a child into my world? They, too, would be put under a microscope and it wasn’t even their choice... they could come to hate me for it. Bella and whatever children we had together could come to hate me for everything I’d do or failed to do.

Holy shit! Things were worse than I thought. How could I make it work? I wanted it to work so badly. I needed Bella to be part of my life, no questions about it. Just having her in my arms made me feel like happiness was bubbling up within me, like anything I wanted to achieve I could. And could I really give up being able to touch her when I wanted? That was a definitive no. Her kisses and sensual movements were ingrained in my mind forever, not a moment would go by when she wasn’t the first and last thing I thought about in my day. It just had to work. It had to.

Eventually after hundred of unhurried kisses, all small, silent professions of my love for her, I fell asleep, clutching her tightly against me, wanting to feel the soft pounding of her heart against my chest. But never once did I remove my lips from hers, in that moment it was impossible—I couldn’t break the connection.

I was worried beyond belief about what would come next. But don’t ‘they’ always say that love conquers all? I sure as fuck hope so. Oh, God...