Fᴏʀ Hɪꜱ Sᴀᴋᴇ | ✔

six| where he seems to have found every answer within him

[Previously in chapter five]

But it was no ailment. It couldn't be. Not at all. He was sure such a feeling of being torn apart in her presence was so natural, so authentic and so precious, he would die all over again and - yet again - only to feel the same feeling for her in his next life.

And next, and perhaps next too. And perhaps more. He wasn't sure anymore but he had this terrifying feeling in his heart, the dread and the doom combined that it meant going for something real and long lasting.

Like for-ever.

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Chapter six | where he seems to have found every answer within him

Edward's POV -

Suddenly Edward was so shook to the core he pursed his lips in a thin line, trying to determine what that meant after he had this earth shattering conclusion in his mind.

Or more precisely, what he should do next to give himself the release from this agony of having to wait upon Emily's every word, her every sigh and her thoroughly agonizing stories about her dates - with men - from a distance, just as her friend, as she did the same to him in his time of need - while also allowing himself the patience of watching her fall in love with someone else.

That was not him.

A sound escaped his throat, dangerously close to a growl and he heard Emily whimper in response. His jaw clicked, hands fisting on the back of her dress, nearly ripping the fabric to shreds.

Emily found his eyes, asking for something, and he was sure he knew what she was searching for. He damn well knew he was bare to her like any wounded wolf in need of treatment.

And at the utter mercy of being skinned alive if that salvaging balm didn't come from her.

And her alone.

And only she could cure him of this sickness...this utter nonsense that kept jabbing at his heart as if he fell on the thousand prickly knives all at once.

His hands tightened around her waist, going dangerously down until he was cupping her hips- firm globes of soft flesh pliant to his large demanding hands. The ring in his forefinger - his wedding ring that he still wore shamelessly - jabbed at her left butt.

Her low moan was not lost on his raging ears, the blood roaring loudly over them - as he pushed her even more against him, her warm front body sliding deliciously up against his insane hardness.

Emily gasped, her breasts creating that delicious friction which went straight shooting to his cock that wanted nothing more than to bury itself in her silky hot dampness, till she couldn't think about anyone but him and his mouth - or better, his tongue - upon her.

Emily stiffened against his hardness poking at her belly, swallowing audibly. She licked her lips in nervousness and he could feel her nipples hardening to pebbles now which poked at his chest and damn well itched him to rip the front of her dress right then and there with his teeth and trace his tongue down to her heaving cleavage until he could bite her full breasts, suck them in his mouth to his roaring hunger which perhaps had no limits - harder and, softer and, louder - until she would break apart in his arms with the cry of his name all over and over again.

And that, he thought, could very well be atleast the starting treatment of his sickness for her.

His cock was pulsing hot with need now, all the blood flushing down to his balls till he could no longer feel his own limbs anymore. He was so utterly mad, with desire singing in his veins, demanding him to take her sweet nectar - between her trembling legs - in his deprived thirsty mouth, right then and there.