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Bella and Edward Make a Lemon Meringue Pie
The title kinda says it all. Bella and Edward make a pie in this little one shot. Gee... I wonder why I chose lemon?
I wasn’t going to write anything more until after Christmas. My to do list is fast approaching critical mass. But as I was baking the other day I started to think about how lemons improve the flavor of certain foods, especially fruit and the next thing you know…..
This is a bit out of cannon. Nessie haters will rejoice. Bella didn’t get preggo and there is no mutant spawn. It takes place right before they are to go to Dartmouth.
1. Chapter 1
Word Count 4277
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Edward and I pulled up to the curb behind my truck at my dad's house. I gazed at the rusted tailgate wistfully.
It was nearly time for us to leave for college and I came to my dad's house as often as I could to get him a descent meal, wishing every time that my pickup was at our house instead of here.
I would not argue that in many ways the Volvo was a better ride, but my truck had its finer points as well. For one thing it was mine which meant that I had at least a fifty-fifty shot at getting to drive. For another, it had a bench seat with no arm rest in between.
Despite Edward's protests of innocence, it seemed far too convenient that less than a week after I agreed to let him replace my truck when it gave out, it mysteriously stopped running. Granted, he had gotten me a new car when the old Chevy finally gave up the ghost, but I didn't feel comfortable driving it. It was too perfect. If I took it in town, I worried where to park it. It didn't matter where I parked the truck. It would be hard to tell if someone bumped into it. And I wouldn't dream of eating or drinking something while sitting on the white leather seats of my new ride. I'm sure that if you spilled something in the truck, you could probably just hose the it down. But worst of all was the constant staring, primarily by middle aged men... it bugged the heck out of me. Even the Volvo was far less conspicuous than the shiny black Mercedes.
Well, he insisted what was his was mine… maybe I should take my credit card and pay someone to fix it. I smile at the thought of what not only Edward, but the entire family would think of this move. As my lamenting transformed into fantasy plotting... I couldn't imagine wasting the money, I didn't notice Edward had already gotten out of the car. He opened my door and I all but jumped out of my skin.
"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" he asked, the one side of his mouth curving up.
"It's okay," I sighed, "just lost in my thoughts."
"Thoughts about what?" His expression was so endearing. Desperate need to know what I was thinking was warring with trying not to be nosy.
"I hate bucket seats."
He snickered, now looking over at my truck too.
"We'll come out and sit in it for a couple hours after we're done here if you like."
I would get it towed to the garage on Monday.
Edward grabbed the groceries out of the back seat and we headed into the house. Today was my father's birthday and, knowing it was his favorite, I had decided as a present to surprise him with a porterhouse steak for dinner and a lemon meringue pie as desert. He needed a few other things too so as soon as I knew... via Alice... my dad had left for his favorite fishing spot and would be gone from the house all day, Edward and I headed to the market to purchase the stuff to make our gift. For obvious reasons, Edward had never been there before. I think he probably would have preferred to stay in the car. His nose wrinkled as soon as we walked in the door muttering under his breath that it smelled like rotting meat in there.
Remnants of my former life here still lingered and I snatched a scrunchy from a drawer as Edward sat the bags down in the kitchen. I didn't cook without my hair being pulled back. I began to put the food away leaving out the lemons, eggs and the other ingredients I needed for my pie. I grabbed the few that I knew were already here out of the pantry, adding them to the pile on the kitchen table.
"You know, away from that putrid meat department, these lemons smell really nice."
Edward picked one up and took a deep breath. His eyes were shut and he looked like he was really enjoying the scent.
How odd, I thought looking at him curiously. Edward rarely had a positive comment for human food.
"If I have any extras I'll make a glass of lemonade for you." I teased.
He was behind me now, lemon still in his hand that was wrapped around my waist, his nose plunged deep into my hair.
"Really nice," He breathed into my scalp, standing the roots of my hair on end. "I don't know what it is…The combination… It's like it's…" he stopped mid sentence to nibble at my ear. "…enhancing you… How on earth is that possible?"
He lifted me up off the floor and sat me on the counter. The last of my frustrations melted away as my mind flooded with memories of when this was a regular occurrence while my dad was at work. I had decided long ago this was my favorite place, aside from our bed, for Edward to kiss me. My legs wrapped conveniently around his waist as one elbow rested on his shoulder, my fingers knotting in his bronze hair as the other one trailed down his chest. My head was slightly higher than his from this perch making him lift his face so that he could reach me. His amber eyes were scorching, his kiss was deep and urgent, and I felt sure a trip to my old bedroom was inevitable.
Only getting this pie made in time for my dad's arrival beat down my desire to take this further. It took and hour or so to make it, but it needed several for it to cool down. We could play all we wanted afterward, I reminded myself, thinking that we never did break in my old bed. Charlie wouldn't be home till evening.
"Edward," I gasped as his lips had moved on to my throat, his fingers starting to untuck my shirt from my jeans. "Edward…" I was having a hard time connecting the words together. "We… need to… we need to… stop…"
His lips froze in place. He pulled back and looked at me. "Did I do something wrong?"
He seemed embarrassed, maybe even ashamed. How silly. I laughed and gave him a kiss on the forehead and sighed. "No, there is nothing wrong. We just have to get this made before it gets too late."
"I'm sorry." His cool breath blew across my face. "I just lost myself for a moment there."
His eyes had a hungry look to them that made the muscles of my stomach tighten. Briefly I considered a store bought pie...
No, this need for him had to be controlled. What was I going to do when we started classes in a few weeks and I had to sit beside him all day long and not touch him? I had already bought the ingredients and we were going to make a pie.
"Don't worry." I said, rubbing his nose against mine, my mouth watering from his scent. "I'll be happy for you to make it up to me in about an hour."
He smiled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
"Right. Make pie… apologize later…make pie…apologize later"
He took me off the counter, dropping his hands from my sides as soon as my feet hit the floor. It looked like he was silently continuing his chant and I was surprised at the extra effort he seemed to have to take to behave himself. I turned away, not wanting to watch. It was loosening my own resolve just staring at his trembling lips.
I walked over to the last cupboard and opened the door, reaching and up for grandma Swan's red plaid cookbook. It was old and weathered, but anything you wanted to make was in its pages. I found the tab for pies and went to the back of the section for "Pastry for a Single Crust Pie".
"Okay, I need 1¼ cups of flour, quarter teaspoon of salt and a third of a cup of shortening."
"Can I help?"
"Certainly," I replied digging for the mixing bowl and sitting it on the kitchen table. Then I opened the drawer and pulled out some plastic measuring cups and spoons, tossing them over my shoulder in his general area knowing that my aim need not be precise. His deep chuckle warmed the room. My throws must have been really off.
"What does this do?" he asked as I flung the pastry cutter at him.
"With the amount of Food Network you've watched, I'm surprised you haven't caught Elton Brown or Emeril using it." I replied, turning around to answer, happy to find a morsel of information unknown to him. "It's a pastry cutter. You put the flour, salt and shortening in the bowl and mix it all together with that."
He held it up to his face and ran his finger over the wires looking slightly confused.
"Dump the ingredients in that big bowl there while I look around for the other things I need and I'll show you what to do with it."
I finally found the rolling pin and a pie plate buried in the back of a lower cupboard and went over to the oven to set it at three-fifty. As I returned to the table, Edward had everything in the bowl, but he was using the pastry cutter like a spoon, stirring the clump of shortening around instead of cutting it in. I kindly controlled my amusement, taking pity on him and began to show him how to use it.
"Like this Edward." I laid my hand on top of his on the wooden dowel handle, guiding the wires through the shortening.
Holy crow, his touch seemed to be extra potent today. I shuddered as a pleasantly familiar pulse swept up my arm.
Before we were married there were days when all I thought about was touching Edward, sometimes at the expense of things like overflowing a glass of milk I was filling or sitting at a stop sign until the car behind me honked. I'd expected that once we had consummated our marriage, this almost painful craving for him would diminish just a little. To the contrary, it had only gotten worse.
"The idea… the idea is to… get the umm… flour and fat…. flour… combined… together…"
"Am I doing it right now?" His cool breath whispering in my ear sending another shiver through my entire body.
I could feel the acceleration of my heart, the heat begin to rise up my chest and on to my face.
As we both started to breath faster, the motion that we were making slowed down. My hand began to tremble on top of Edward's as he took over, cutting through the shortening, rocking, lifting and separating the flour covered pieces around the bowl. I stared down at the pea size balls forming, watching our hands together circling the bowl, undulating back and forth as one. Sweat was starting to bead on the back of my neck. Edward took his free hand and brushed it across my cheek, his finger tracing the shape of my lips. In the ever increasing heat, I could feel the pulsation of blood swelling me, and the dampness between my legs.
I wretched my hand off his and took a step back, shaking my head to clear it.
"Make pie… apologize later… make pie… apologize later" I began to chant.
Edward let out a snort, laughing so hard he let go of the pastry cutter, grabbing hold of the table to steady himself. I started to laugh too. After a minute to settle down and get our air intake back to normal, we went back to work.
"Next," I said still a little breathless, "we add cold water a little bit at a time until the dough starts to form."
"Do you desire to do this alone?" he asked wickedly.
"You mix, I'll add the water." I replied, trying to appear stern.
We carefully avoided each others hands and soon the dough was out of the bowl, rolled and placed in the pie plate. Edward crimped the edge. I try not to let his perfect looking rim deride my belief in my cooking abilities.
"Alright, that was the easy part," I told him as I place the pie plate in the oven and turned the old dial timer on top of the stove to eleven minutes. "Now we have to make the filling."
"What would you like me to do?"
"Well, let's see…" I looked down at the cook book turning a couple pages back to the lemon pie recipe. Edward came to my side looking over my shoulder, reading as well. "We got to grate and squeeze the lemons and put them in a bowl. Then we have to cook the sugar, cornstarch, flour and butter till it bubbles."
"You deal with those damn lemons; I'll do the rest."
I got him started, turning the burner on low and handing him a heavy pot and a wooden spoon. He looked like he had gotten the hang of it so I pawed around in the drawers again and got the cheese grater out. Chefs on TV usually used a lemon zester, but this worked just as good. I picked up a lemon and started to rub it against the grater aiming for the tiniest holes.
The sound of Edward's gasp startled me. I looked over at the side of his face. His jaw was taunt and his lips tightly shut. He wasn't breathing anymore.
"Are you alright?"
He just nodded in response.
The tension in the air was palpable. I hurried through the lemons trying my best to ignore the fire that had reignited inside me. As I rubbed the lemons up and down, I blushed, thinking about using that motion for another purpose. Grateful to finally have enough zest, I took a knife, slicing through the now naked lemon, squeezing the juice out of it. My face got redder.
Geeze, I just couldn't get my mind out of the gutter. The buzzer went off and I jumped again. Edward silently opened the door and got the pie crust out of the oven and went back to his stirring. My eyes began to wander down his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, his tight little…
I had to look back at the recipe again. If I didn't get it together, I was going to have a mess on my hands. Eggs… what did I do with the damn eggs? Oh, right in front of me. I took another cleansing breath and got a large and small bowl out and separated the yokes from the whites.
I kept my eyes on the table and asked, "Is it bubbling?" He made a short sound I took as an affirmation. Far from finding amusement in his situation, I empathized. If not breathing would work for me, I'd be doing it.
I took the little bowl with the yokes over to the stove. Edward shut the flame off.
"This is called tempering." I instructed, my voice a little strained. "We have to add a little of the hot filling into the eggs first so they don't turn into scrambled in the saucepan."
He remained silent, continuing to acknowledge me with nods. I took a measuring cup and scooped some of the thick bubbly liquid into the egg bowl and stirred, concentrating hard on doing it right. After a couple seconds, I went back to the stove… and Edward, plopping the tempered eggs back into the pan. He had rolled his sleeves up and out of the way and I almost dropped the bowl as my wrist rubbed against his bare forearm. Edward stiffened a little too, but recovered quickly, stirring until it was all combined and smooth. Finally, I grabbed the lemon juice and zest and took it over, adding it to the custard.
"Okay, take this and pour it into the crust."
This was getting out of hand. My heart was racing. My shirt was soaked. I went back to the drawers and found the whisk, stopping to open the kitchen widow on my way, knowing perfectly well it wasn't the temperature in the house that was making me sweat.
"We don't have a mixer." I said fanning myself with a piece of junk mail I found on the counter. "I figured with you here, whisking the eggs whites wouldn't be a problem".
He took the whisk from my hand, silently waiting for me to add the vanilla and cream of tartar.
"I'll add the sugar once it forms peaks."
Edward was better than any mixer on the market. After about two minutes what was once a few tablespoons of of clear liquid at the bottom of the large stainless bowl had transformed itself into a thick glossy white meringue, filling the bowl two thirds up its sides. I added the sugar a tablespoon at a time, counting out loud so he could catch it if my distractions got too intense.
"We got to spread this… all over the hot filling… seal it to the edge… and stick it back in the oven for… for…"
"Fifteen minutes." He whispered and his lips went back together. I spooned the meringue on top the pie, doing the best I could with my shaking hand to make little peaks that would brown nicely as it cooked.
"Is it ready to go in?" the words came out of him in a rush.
His speed was blinding. The pie was in the oven and the timer was set before I could blink. Then he turned and quickly disappeared out of the house to the back porch.
I went to follow, my eyebrows pulled together. What the heck was he doing out there? But as soon as I swung the storm door open to ask he barked. "Wait in there."
My face fell. He walked back over to the door and said quietly. "If I go back in there, I guarantee that pie is going to burn."
"Oh," was all I could respond.
I shut the door and ran upstairs to the bathroom knowing that there was mouthwash in the medicine cabinet. I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I splashed cold water on my face and to try to slow my breathing down. I made use of the facilities, washed my hands and tore back downstairs, putting on my oven mitt on and glaring at the timer.
Only four minutes down? Maybe there was something wrong with it.
Eleven minutes later…
I started to reach for the oven door the second the buzzer went off but Edward beat me to it, pulling the pie out before the door he had darted through swung shut behind him. He carried it over to the sink and sat it on the open window sill.
"Is there anything else we have to do with this?" he asked pulling the scrunchy out of my hair and lifting me off the ground. I stared into his golden eyes, burning with need.
"Just have to let it cool" I said, my mouth eagerly anticipating his.
She had barely finished her sentence before my mouth was on hers. Once I got out of the house I had thought for sure it would be safe to breathe again. That could not have been further from the truth. Even outside, the scent of her, the scent of the pie cooking wafted out to me. They mixed so deliciously. I could savor the flavor of it on my tongue.
Now that I was back inside and free to do what I wanted, I had to taste her. I was not disappointed. On top of her ridiculously potent nectar there was this new wonderful undertone I couldn't describe. I sat her down on her feet long enough to finish pulling her t-shirt out of her jeans and over her head. She only got about half of my shirt unbuttoned before I had her bra removed, throwing it in the sink.
I couldn't wait for her to finish. I picked her back up laid her on top of the table covered with the materials we just used to make the pie. The rolling pin hit the floor with a loud thud. We knocked several spoons and bowls off the table too. The one that was ceramic smashed as it hit the linoleum. I was sure that I would feel bad about that later.
The table was too small for me to climb on. Her legs dangled over the side. I pulled her sneakers off and headed to the snap of her jeans, my tongue anxiously awaiting the opportunity to wind its way up the inside of her naked thigh. She put her calves on my shoulders and lifted her backside up off the table, the wax paper we used to roll the pie crust out crackling under her back. My hands reached underneath her, catching both jeans and panties at the same time, pulling them both down past the table. I got on my knees, extricating myself from one leg long enough to free it from the offending garments.
My ecstatic tongue wielded its way up her leg, delirious with the pleasure licking her warm thigh. She moaned and squirmed shaking off the other pant leg herself. I had no patience for play. I wrapped my arms around her thighs and went straight for the folds between her legs, the aroma of her arousal only adding to the mouth-watering bouquet. She gasped with satisfaction and her legs rocked against my shoulders, grinding herself against my eager tongue as the bag of sugar fell over into her hair. It seemed like no time at all that I could feel her orgasm starting to build in my mouth, the pulsing beat growing faster and stronger, throbbing down my burning throat. Her hot thighs trembled against my ears as her body stiffened and she cried out my name, her right hand digging into my hair.
Her right hand…. The one she had squeezed the lemons with. I stood up and my khakis dropped to my ankles. I pulled the backs of her calves up against my chest and thrust myself into her. It was like I had just plugged myself into a furnace. The heat that encompassed me radiated in the beat of the heart that we now shared, reanimating every cell in my stone body. I spread her legs wide and leaned over her to taste her firm breast as I moved… no feast would be complete without that, and then made my way to her neck. The spent lemons were tangled up in her hair. I groaned as I all but stuck my nose in them.
"Turn me around." She panted, her already flushed face turning a darker crimson.
Steam boiled from my ears. If I could have done it without injuring her I would have kept me inside her and spun her around like a top. As it was, my lips touched hers briefly, and I pulled out of her getting both of us to our feet. She reached down and with surprising force, yanked my shirt open, pooping the remaining buttons. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as her hand slid down me, rubbing my very hard erection, before trailing down lower to play with me. She took the hand I had curved around her breast, brought my fingers to her mouth and began to suck on them. My body shook in response, the pulse in her tongue drumming through my arm, spreading like wildfire through me again. Then she turned, taking my hand with her the bent over the table.
No creature on earth could have resisted such an invitation.
I widened my stance and thrust back into her feeling her teeth bite down on my thumb. She released my hand and gripped the table with her own. It inched along the floor as she braced herself against it, crashing her soft body into mine as my hips rocked to meet her. I pulled the wax paper that clung to her back off her. I stared at her sticky sugar and lemon covered hair, pulling the long mane up to my nose like reins inhaling, as she rode me, grunting in time with her rhythm. Needing more to hang on to, I dropped her hair and took her by the waist and joined her in her feral dance, the heat and the tempo ever increasing until I could feel her muscles tighten up around me. I forced my hands away as her grunts turned to wild screams and the scent of her orgasm billowed out around me triggering my own hedonistic explosion, snapping my head back and roaring into the ceiling.
Pants still at my ankles and gasping for air, I pulled out of her and pulled us both to the debris covered floor. I cradled her in my arms chuckling as I picked a lemon seed from her hair.
"I think the next time I want to make Charlie a pie, we better do it at home." She said snuggling up closer to me.
I sighed and kissed her forehead. "I'm just grateful we don't have to explain how his table got broke."
"You would have thought of something good… you always do."