for stacey

7 ghosts I
(Nine Inch Nails - Ghosts... maybe give this track a listen, on repeat, while reading... :)
for blackbird <3

I exhaled, feeling the skin on my face and neck and chest all overheat as I leaned back into my chair, crossing my legs underneath myself.

The little gift box remained out of my hands, across from me. On my desk it sat. Unopened. Almost completely untouched.

It was marked discretely white. It taunted me.
But every time I went to lift it’s lid, I hesitated; and was pulled back toward my chair by the feeling of the paper between my fingers.

My Lamb,
This tonight. And only, this.
Wait patiently, and keep your beautiful hands away from what is only mine.
-Edward xx

It was thin parchment - a corner torn from one of the pages of my notebook that sat open on my desk.

I exhaled again, fanning my face with the torn corner.

Anything could be in that box.

And I’d wear - use, attach, ingest, gladly take - anything for him.

It was this thought that gave me courage, and I leaned forward to the edge of my seat once more.

I traced the parameters of the small parcel, all the lines that made up the outline of the little white box. Curling my fingertips under the lid’s ridge, I pulled upward slowly.

Inside, wrapped in layers of light pink tissue paper was a teeny,
tiny,
skirt.

Sliding my hand underneath it, I searched the tissue paper with my other. But there was nothing else in the box.

A curl of excitement ribboned my lips up into my cheeks, a spiral of anticipation thrilling me from head to toe, as I lifted the skirt with both hands then.
I loosened my grip, holding the soft piece of lace and satin and thin, dainty chiffon, so carefully in my hands. I was so afraid of tearing or fraying any bit of it, of ruining it in any way.

Under the black satin that made up the surface of the skirt, was layer after articulately stitched, delicately patterned, pastelpink lace so thin, so fine that the slightest pressure of a too-careless finger would shred it.

I couldn’t begin to image what he’d paid for it, the miles he’d traveled to find it and pick it. His intentions, his dedication and determination - the possibilities made my head spindizzy.

The hours after that were all waiting - all nervous tugging at my long sleeves and jacket seams. Fraying the ends of my scarf. Closing and opening my hands, stretching my fingers.

I booked it home from work and tried to take my time in the shower.

I knew he wouldn’t arrive until tonight, and that I should have busied myself - that I should probably lay in the bath and relax and make the wait at least feel like it wasn’t taking so long.

But I couldn’t.

I ached inside and out with want.

And I couldn't wait to feel that lace on my bare skin, smooth and softened by warm water.

That was what took the most of my waiting time - putting the skirt on.
I sat in my towel, on the edge of my bed, just eying it for the longest time. I was so nervous about pulling it up my legs and around my hips. I did not, did not want to rip any little bit of it. He would notice, and I wanted it to be perfect for him.

Ever so carefully, I lifted one bare foot from my carpet, then the other, and started to work the chiffon up my legs. I took minutes inching it over my calves, the fronts and backs of my knees, and so cautiously up my thighs. I stood finally, and brought it as high as it would go, to rest dangerously low on my hips.
I returned the towel back to the bathroom rack and returned to my room to stand topless in front of my mirror.

Realizing as I turned ‘round and ‘round that I couldn’t sit in the teeny skirt without creasing or crinkling it, I glanced over at my desk clock to see how much time I had left.

The sun had set, but there was probably at least another hour before he’d show.
I felt my heartbeat in the ache between my legs and I pressed my thighs together tightly as my want for his kisses, his words, his touch, intensified.

Edward was so good to me, always so good to me. And sometimes, when I was an especially good girl, he took extra special care to make my heart beat faster.
It was this thought and this hope that I concentrated hardest on as I opened my window and moved back to my bed. Unable to sit, I knelt in the center of it. I faced the window and rested my hands; one over the other, in my lap.

Trying not to look at the clock or not to count the seconds that ticked by in my own head, night finally settled around me.

I looked down at my hands. I opened them and inspected my palms and didn’t even hear him scale the side of the house.

My eyes shot up as he placed his hands on my windowsill and pulled himself up and inside.

His lips twitched like he wanted to grin, but he kept his face stern.

XxX

I’d been aching to devour her since I left her office.

And the sight of her knelt on her bed, in nothing but my gift, hands in her lap, waiting, so obedient to her need and my will - it was almost too much.

She flinched toward me, but caught herself and remained still.

“Good girl,” I breathed, letting a halfsmile take it’s shape on my lips. I stepped to her bed and extended my hand to hers.

She took it for balance, and stood before me. I wrapped both of my arms around her bare middle and traced her sides with my hands as she folded forward and hugged me tightly.

“Happy birthday,” I whispered, kissing the crown of her head.

“Thank you,” she replied, shivering against me as I traced my fingertips from the small of her back, up her backbone, to the back of her neck. I slid the fingers of my right hand into her hair and closed my left around her hip.

Nudging her back, I tilted my head and hovered my mouth over hers, breathing just over her slightly parted lips. I watched as the quiver started in them, and loved it. I worked harder than she knew to resist the urge to press forward and feel it give between my teeth.

I pulled back, denying her and I both the pleasure.

Sliding my other hand through her hair and down her arm, I clasped her smaller hand in my own and raised it above her head, signaling her to turn ‘round for me.
She flushed a the most delicious hues of pink and twirled on her tiptoes in slow motion, all the way around before facing me again.

I hummed in approval, taking in the sight of her and placing my hands on each of her hips. I lifted her easily, nuzzling the crook of her neck as she draped her arms around mine. I could feel her relief was over her as she lulled forward into my chest. It was followed by another shiver, like when I’d traced her spine just moments ago.

“My Lamb,” I said against her skin, letting my lips and tongue tease her pulse as it began to pick up.

Cradling her head with one hand, I laid her back onto her bed and knelt over her, resting one of my knees between each of hers.

Her eyes were wide despite her heavy lids threatening to fall closed over them.
I leaned down closer, placing my left hand on the pillow next to her face. She inhaled deeply, and shyly brushed her cheek against my wrist.

I brought my other hand to her forehead, stroking the strands of black back from her forehead and feathering just the tips of my fingers down her cheek.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her mouth opened a little wider. Her whole body rolled like a softwave, up ward, against my stomach and hips.

“You’ve waited so patiently for me,” I continued, barely tip-tapping the line of her jaw, from her cheek to her chin. She panted quietly, a faint whimper shadowing the undertones of her breaths.

“My beautiful...”

I slid my the tips of my pointer and middle fingers from the underside of her chin, down the curve of her throat.

“Beautiful... "

She tilted her head back, arching her neck for me. I purred approval deep in my chest, and let my fingers slide gently sideways, along her collarbone.

“Birthday girl.”

She cooed softly, and let her head fall to the side as I continued to run the fronts and backs of my fingertips over her trembling throat.

“I trust,” I whispered, dropping my voice an octave as I dropped my face closer to her skin. “That you didn’t just open your gift...”

Her head was tilted back too far for me to see her eyes, but I heard them blinking swiftly. I dropped my fingers lower and traced the outlines of the flower on the side of her chest, the front of her shoulder, jealous of the ink that was always inside her.

“But that you read the note as well...”

She rolled upward again, her fingers grasping fistfuls of sheets at her sides as blew cool air across her chest and neck. I trailed my fingers lower, down the middle of her chest, the soft curves of her breasts while her entire torso rose and fell with each breath she panted in and out.

She started nodding her head as my fingers swirled lower, around her bellybutton, along the seam of her skirt. She was beautiful in her desperation, laid out and begging for me.

It was her birthday, but she was my gift.

I was going to open her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Yes, I did. I’ve been good for you. Please...”

“Please what, Lamb?”

She arched her back as i dropped my hand to the outside of her thigh and began drawing it slowly back up.

“Please,” she begged again. “Please give to me.”

I gently kissed the bend of her jaw, down the side of her neck, the brightly coloured tips of the petals on her flower. Taking care to keep my lips as soft as I could, I slid my hand higher and brushed her bare skin.

She had read her note. She was so good for me.

And I would give to her.

That special gift that I only gave to her on our most sacred nights together.
In a quick instant, I moved down her bed and positioned myself between her legs, parting her thighs with each of my hands.

She bucked and writhed, not to get away, but to get more contact.

“Look at me, little Lamb,” I gently ordered.

She raised her head slowly.

I stared hard at her and slid my grip higher, my hands taking over her inner thighs and squeezing slightly.

I stroked my right thumb over the artery that was just under, and thrumming loudly with her redlife.

“Keep your eyes on mine, understand?”

“Yes,” she breathed out, shaking her head and leaning up onto her elbows.

I grinned wide at her surrender, and gave her right leg a nudge out of the way, so that I could lean down closer to her left, the one I was still stroking with my thumb.

Still watching her eyes, I lowered my lips to her skin and pressed my open mouth to the symphony of skin and blood just under it. It beat to my song, in rhythm with my need for her. It called out and begged for me.

Pressing my tongue flat against that precious curve, where inner thigh met perfect sweetness, I sucked gently at her skin, just for a moment, just long enough for her to lose her breath.

She slid her hand through my hair as I did so, and that was all it took.
I opened my mouth wider and cut my teeth into her warm skin, the rush of her blood so loud in my ears I barely even heard it as she cried out. Half pained, half pleasured, all enamored ecstasy.

I sucked, hard at first, heavy pulls from the inside of her leg. And she jerked and thrashed under me, still crying out, her face perfectly twisted up in lust. But she kept her eyes open and on mine, and after the first few swallows I went softer on her.

Pulling my mouth back, I lapped at the tiny cuts with my tongue, alternating between soft licks and easy, suckling kisses.

I ran my tongue, red with her blood, along my top lip before returning it to the curve of her thigh and she clenched her eyes shut.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop...”

I growled as I pushed my mouth back to her leg, and cut into her again, less than an inch above the first crescent shape I made another, overlapping it.

The rush of blood was louder this time, and so was her cry. She arched her back up off her bed and I moved my hand under her, steadying her via the small of her back. With my other, I gathered a handful of black satin and pink lace, and tore, bringing her closer to me, pressing her harder to my mouth.

I knew I’d have to stop soon and I sucked harder, taking as much of her as I dared allow. Tearing more of her skirt, sliding my hand under it and against her slick skin, I pushed my middle finger inside of her.

My name rang out, over and over and over as she rocked against my hands and lips, and tongue and teeth.

“Thank you,” she was panting, barely able to breath at all, her voice all but gone.

“Thank you,” she was saying, her fingers stroking through my hair so softly. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you...”

When I took from her like this, she called it giving. When she wanted me to take from her, she always asked so sweetly, for me to please give to her.
When she shined like this, I understood why.

Lapping carefully at the cuts, smoothing them safely over, I licked at my lips and crawled up her shaking body.

She curled on her side and I held her close, made warm enough by the gift she gave me, that I could actually warm her when we embraced.

“Thank you,” I whispered back, holding one arm around her tightly and tracing the hand of my other down her back to rifle through the tattered bits of her skirt.
I grinned as I kissed her forehead and she drifted toward sleep.

“Thank you, little Lamb.”