Work Text:
Disenthralled
They settled together on the chaise longue in his bedroom; wrapped around each other, at an impasse.
Curled up in her mate's lap, Bella held his stare speculatively. At length, examining the conflict and apprehension in his eyes, she finally determined that it was all for her; his reluctance was owed to a misplaced concern surrounding her thoughts and feelings—the giver's experience—of the matter.
Not because he didn't want it.
Finally, she smiled, wry even as her heart swelled with warmth. The poor man subscribed to some dated notions that she would truly love to correct. Not taking her eyes off his, she slid off his lap, languidly sinking to her knees in front of him.
In an instantaneous response, she saw him start minutely and begin to reach for her. Brow furrowing, eyes growing increasingly troubled, a protest forming on his lips. But sitting back on her heels, she caught his hands gently in hers, tangling their fingers together.
"Bella," he murmured, warning and pleading, both at once.
"Carlisle," she returned quietly. "Will you trust me on this?"
Carlisle opened his mouth to respond, an expression of utter misgiving on his perfect features. She continued before he could say anything.
"I know you have reservations about this that are a product of your time of birth. If you tell me you don't want this for yourself, I'll back off right now." She paused for a moment, making sure this was clear to him. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel pressured.
"But I get the sense that you're hesitant purely because you have concerns about what it's like from my end." Her head tipped slightly in askance. "Am I wrong?"
He blew out a breath, leaning forward towards her, quiet for a few moments. "I know from a researcher's standpoint and as an experienced doctor that some women claim to enjoy delivering fellatio," he said slowly, his perturbed gaze fixed on their entwined hands. "But…"
"But you don't believe that?" Bella studied his downturned face, hiding a smile at his characteristically clinical phrasing.
A part of her was cooing silently at his obvious and adorable discomfort. It was a rare sight, a clear departure from the calm confidence that tended to come naturally to him, cultivated and sharpened by centuries of experience.
He finally looked up at her, his expression a wordless, wary question.
"I can't speak for everybody, of course. I know there are some who don't particularly like to do it, for various reasons. But I also know many that do, and I happen to be one of them," she said matter-of-factly. For a brief moment, she recalled with an amused smile a few raunchy, usually-alcohol-induced conversations she'd had over the years with her girlfriends—and the occasional gay friends who'd been indoctrinated into girls' nights.
Carlisle stared at her searchingly, openly disbelieving. "Why?"
"Why do I like to give head?" On seeing him shift infinitesimally in his seat, she lost her fight against a smirk. He was definitely hard. It would have been unnoticeable, had she not been observing him so closely.
He shot her a look that was half scolding and half aroused.
"Carlisle, you've gone down on me before. Why do you do it?"
He lifted one of her hands to his lips, brushing a kiss against the back of it. "Because I adore bringing you pleasure." He knew he was losing.
"Does it repulse you to do it?"
She knew with delicious certainty that it didn't. Carlisle ate her out every chance he got. Finding any excuse to get between her thighs, lapping up every last drop of her essence and watching with silent delight as he made her scream. Every time.
She could just imagine what it must feel like—the powerful gratification that came with knowing you could please your partner in that manner.
Bella was no novice to oral sex. She'd had a fair number of encounters under her belt, and she knew that fellatio was something she generally enjoyed.
She also knew that if Carlisle allowed her to do this for him, the experience would easily and vastly outweigh any she'd had with previous boyfriends, or flings, or one-night-stands. Everything with him was amplified beyond comparison. He was her mate, designed for her as she was made for him.
She was still wrapping her mind around it.
The mere thought of having her way with his cock made her shiver with want. If not for his genuine, ill-construed worry that the act was disrespectful towards her, she'd have instigated it a long time ago. Multiple times. Every day. In every position imaginable.
"Not at all," Carlisle said softly in response to her question, his lovely, unfettered English accent making her smile involuntarily. Warm, molten gold eyes bore deeply into hers. "Giving you pleasure is my supreme satisfaction."
He brought both of her hands up, placing light kisses against her fingertips. His passionate stare lulled her into a brief, Carlisle-induced stupor, and he used her momentary distraction to pull her back up into his lap. He caught her lips with his, and they kissed slowly for several long minutes.
Bella finally pulled away to breathe, head falling back as he trailed cool, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.
"Carlisle," she tugged gently on his thick, blond locks, beseeching him to look at her. When he did, she made her request.
"Let me."
Though the last vestiges of his doubt were still visible in his face, Carlisle nodded slowly, loosening his hold around her.
She got on her knees once more, manoeuvring to settle between his feet. Though she could see clearly that he was hard beneath the smooth fabric of his pants, his posture was stiff, muscles strung out with tension. She ran a soothing hand over his thigh and leaned her head against his knee, trying to relax him first.
She couldn't get over the idea that he'd been around for nearly four hundred years and never received a blow job.
He tried to help her as she reached for his belt, but she dissuaded it, urging him to place his hands back at his sides. The buckle was loud in the silence of the room, the only other sound her quiet breaths. With unhurried, measured movements, Bella unzipped his pants and stroked him slowly over his briefs, monitoring his countenance carefully.
For someone who'd been raised in an era when all sexual acts not resulting in procreation were deemed shameful and taboo, Carlisle was an incredibly modern lover. Though he never lost his old-world gentility and sophistication, in bed he was without reservations. Impassioned, unapologetically commanding, and gloriously attentive. There wasn't much they hadn't done yet (or flirted unashamedly about doing; it had barely been a couple months since they first kissed, after all).
Barring this one act, that is.
She waited, keeping up her sedate motion until he finally voiced a desire to go further.
"Bella." He managed to make the appeal sound like an order.
Smiling a little, she pulled down the waistband of his briefs, allowing his cock to spring up, already at full attention. At the sight, she had to remind herself sternly to take it slow—at least to begin with. This was a first for him.
Glancing up at him once, she wrapped one hand firmly around his length, continuing to stroke. Carlisle's girth was enough that her annoyingly small fingers could not wrap all the way around him. Keeping at the same leisurely pace of massage, she brought both hands into the fray. Owing to the time and place of his birth, he was uncircumcised. Gently pulling back his foreskin, she thumbed the moisture that had gathered, spreading it down over his length.
A low groan from Carlisle had her eyes shooting up to his face. The gold in his eyes had darkened to a muted ochre.
Since he seemed to be watching her intently, she wondered if she could up his viewing pleasure. Though she'd unfastened his pants, he was still fully clothed in his work attire, as was she.
Releasing his cock, Bella stood, reaching behind her to unzip her shift dress, and the good doctor’s gaze burned though her as she let it slip down her body. She'd forgone her thigh-highs that day, having on only a black lace bralette and matching brazilians.
In the last months, she'd been taking subconscious cues on what he seemed to enjoy. Though Carlisle responded ardently to absolutely anything she was wearing (or not wearing), she'd quickly noted that he seemed to favour styles that were vaguely reminiscent of the stays and corsets that saw their heyday in his youth. This pleased her, since she was partial to corsets and longline bras herself.
Bella suspected, however, that any affinity on his part for certain lingerie was mainly to do with how much satisfaction he would derive from ripping them off of her. And then buying her more, of course. "Economic stimulus," he'd quip in response to her exasperated reprimands, much to her amusement.
Stimulus, indeed.
Inwardly preening at his ravenous stare, she stepped out of the pool of her dress, choosing to keep her heels on. Reaching up, she began pulling pins from her hair, unwinding her low chignon and allowing the loose curls to fall around her shoulders.
Carlisle's hands shot out toward her. She once more nudged his arms back to his sides, managing it because he chose to comply with her.
She had to be the one pulling the strings here. At least, until they got to the meat of the matter.
Lowering herself to her previous position, she briefly resumed her firm strokes to his member. He seemed prepared now for her to up the ante, all traces of hesitation overtaken with need. Keeping her eyes locked steadfastly on his, she finally placed the head of his erection against her lips, giving a slow, languid lick.
The reaction was immediate. In a move too fast for her to register, his fingers were clamped around her upper arms.
"Bella," he shuddered, looking desperately at her.
His hold was just this side of painful, ever mindful of her fragility to his strength.
"Carlisle," she soothed, running her fingers down the side of his face. "Trust me."
His grip loosened, and his forehead came to rest against hers. She pecked his lips softly. "Why don't you keep your arms back there," she suggested, nodding to the back of the chaise longue. "Just in case."
Carlisle kissed her once more, then nodded, placing his fisted hands over the back of the seat. He looked tensely at her, but now with more desire than trepidation. Holding his gaze, she opened her lips over him, slowly taking his cock into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat.
A strangled groan ripped out of his chest.
The taste of his precum brought her up short for a moment. Normally, it should have been slightly salty, perhaps with a bitter undertone, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. But then she remembered that the change converted all bodily fluids into venom. Carlisle's venom was sweet and heady, and coupled with the weighty, satin feel of him in her mouth, Bella couldn't help moaning around her mouthful.
He gasped quietly, lips parted, unable to look away from her.
She raised her head, suckling at the head of his cock for a few moments, teasing, before taking his length in her mouth again. One hand rested over his knee to balance her, and she used the other to work the length of him that she couldn't reach yet, establishing a slow rhythm.
Carlisle shook with the force of his restraint. His body was taut with tension, his hands in tight fists over the back of the chaise. His chest rumbled alternatively with growls and groans as he watched her with wild, glinting obsidian eyes—she'd noted with fascination how the gold progressively darkened to pitch black. She never broke their stare as she took his cock in and out of her mouth, collapsing her cheeks around him. Her soft moans occasionally vibrated around his length, inciting guttural groans from him in response.
Deciding to take it further, Bella made to relax the muscles in her throat. As she sank down onto him, she finally took the entirety of his length into her passage, the head of his cock pushing deep into her throat. She threatened to choke for a short moment, her muscles seizing up—he was too thick to make this easy on her. Placing both her hands on his thighs for support, she stilled, willing her gag reflex into submission.
She saw Carlisle's expression twist and his eyes blow wide in shock. His fingers suddenly buried themselves in her hair, simultaneously tugging at her locks and holding her in place. His loud, snarling growl filled the air.
Placing her hands calmingly over his, she extricated herself for a moment. A sliver of reason returned to his eyes, and he immediately went to release her hair, an apology forming on his lips.
She stopped him, holding his hands in place. "Careful," she cautioned simply, knowing that he would be. Then she returned her attention to his weeping member, which looked painfully hard by now.
The sensation of Carlisle's strong fingers in her hair as she worked his length did interesting things to her. Bella knew instantly that she'd want to do this again with him in control. She was beyond wet already, her panties soaked through.
She quickened her pace, loving the friction in her sensitive throat, her tongue brushing along the underside of his hard, unyielding cock. His low, velvet groans and the way he watched her with hooded eyes triggered a delicious heat, unfurling languidly in her belly. She throbbed with need and shifted on her heels, trying to attain some friction where she needed it most. Carlisle's piercing gaze caught the movement when she lifted a hand to stroke her own breasts, a dangerous growl issuing forth as his orbs grew impossibly darker.
The soft, wet sounds of his length sliding in and out of her mouth seemed to rile them both up. In minutes, his fingers tightened where they were tangled in her hair, pulling on the strands. Recognising that he was close, she sped up, her head bobbing over his lap as she tried to take him as deep as she could. Her fingers reached to squeeze gently at his sac, and he shuddered violently in response. His tugging on her hair became more insistent.
"Bella," Carlisle ground out roughly. "Bella, I'm going to… you have to…"
Bella realised he was trying to get her to pull away before he came.
They'd discussed it at length before, so she knew that ingesting venom could not trigger the change or harm her.
She batted dismissively at his hands, her focus on driving him to the brink.
She revelled in the times when he let go of his iron restraint, surrendering to the animal. Only for her. Carlisle's roar filled the room as he reached the peak of his pleasure, drawing his hands away from her a split second before he lost control.
Ambrosia exploded in Bella's mouth, and she moaned in rapture, trying to swallow down the thick, sweet liquid as fast as it came. She thought she heard a vague splintering sound, but was far too gone to care. Keeping up her rhythm, she carried him through his orgasm. The soft sounds of her satisfaction escaped as she watched her mate with glittering chocolate-brown eyes.
He was always godlike in his perfection, but in his pleasure he was glorious. Pale lavender lids were half-closed over his eyes, lips parted, flawless features twisted in perfect delectation. The harsh snarls and grunts expelling from his form seemed to make the air quiver around them.
Coupled with the unnatural pitch-black of his eyes, it might have scared someone else. But there was a primal being in Bella, a part of her that was perpetually attuned to her vampire—the part of her that made her Carlisle's mate, in the truest sense of the word. In that moment, as he gave in to the basest elements of his nature, she herself ceded to that being. And she exulted, triumphant and joyous in having satisfied her mate.
As he softened in her mouth, the roaring vociferations tapered into a low, sustained purr. Having relished in the very last drops of his essence, Bella released his thick member with a satisfying pop.
Finally, Carlisle's eyes snapped open, overblown pupils fixated directly on her. And too quick for her to register, he lunged.
It took her a few moments to realise that she was on her back on the bed, pinned down to the sheets.
Carlisle had sent them careening across the room, wrapping himself around her so she felt none of the impact, and now had his head buried in the side of her neck, his teeth clamped feverishly over her pulsing artery. He was just self-possessed enough to keep from breaking the skin, but left his mark plainly on her fragile skin. They were pressed together from shoulder to hip, so Bella could feel the steady growl emanating from his chest, though it was too low for her to hear.
He had her wrists held down on either side of her head, and she knew he was struggling for control.
"Carlisle," she breathed quietly, pressing a tiny kiss to his soft, blond hair.
Bella was not afraid. All those years ago, during her time in Forks with Edward, she had been unafraid—but that had stemmed mostly from Edward's deliberate concealment of the true peril of vampire nature, and some wilful ignorance and foolish bravado on her part. It had been a reckless and careless sort of courage, and a laughably far cry from what she felt now, with Carlisle.
She was older now, and she'd seen firsthand the horrors that a vampire was capable of. She knew exactly how helpless she was, as a human in the face of beings so exponentially stronger than her. It was a true testament to the ethereal bond between herself and her mate, that under no circumstances could she feel scared of Carlisle. Even though Bella's conscious mind was largely unaware of this fact, the innermost depths of her recognised that she was a part of Carlisle. Part of him in the way that his hands or legs were part of him, only magnified a hundredfold. They were both perfectly symmetrical pieces of the same whole. And though she was yet to ponder upon and accept it, she was the true heart of his eternal life. The purpose for which his soul had waited centuries to align with.
He could not and would not hurt her, any more than he would tear off his own limbs.
Before long she felt him release a long, inaudible breath, giving one last, gentle nip to the skin of her throat. In another inhumanly fast motion, he was upright, still shackling her wrists—leaving him straddling her hips, though she felt little of his weight.
She drank in the sight of him greedily. The expression on his face was even, nearly unreadable. But his eyes—still entirely devoid of their former gold—were heated, decidedly predatory as they roved over her half-clothed form. She half expected him to pounce and engage her aggressively, but he was a controlled tempest.
She'd seen that look before. Her toes curled in wicked anticipation.
Beginning with her forehead, Carlisle ran his marble lips over every inch of her face—not so much kissing as simply blowing his cool breath into her warm skin. Effectively leaving his scent marking her.
He was probably moving deliberately slowly, but he was still far too quick for Bella to keep up with. Brushing over her eyelids, skimming her nose and over her mouth, not lingering long enough for her to catch his lips. He came to rest in the little hollow in between her collarbones, delicately pulling her flesh between his teeth.
The fingers around her wrists trailed deftly down her arms and over her slender shoulders, coming to rest firmly over her full, aching breasts. She bit her lip to hold back a sigh. Her nipples were pebbled hard under the thin lace of her bra, desperately needing attention.
With no warning, Carlisle ripped the material cleanly down the middle, with the same irreverence one would show to shredding used paper. Less than a second later, she found her panties similarly discarded, the scraps of her clothing tossed to the floor.
Oh, well, Bella thought, smiling indulgently. She was due for some shopping, anyway.
All thoughts of shopping flew out of her head when Carlisle's mouth clamped firmly over her left breast, suckling hard at the tight pink peak. He roughly palmed the other, rolling her nipple none-too-gently between forefinger and thumb. The twinge of almost-pain sent a bolt of heat straight to her sex, and she moaned softly as she raked her nails through his hair, holding him to her.
He worked her over thoroughly, pale pink nipples turning red under his ministrations. He knew how sensitive her breasts were, and Bella knew she was a sight by the time he was temporarily finished torturing her—cheeks flushed, back arched and eyes glazed over, a near constant cry of plea or pleasure on her lips.
She lay panting and breathless, barely registering that Carlisle had proceeded to move lower. So she jerked when she felt his lips meet the wet, overheated flesh of her pussy without warning.
Once again, he seemed to be marking his territory, covering her sex in his scent—he laved at every crevice and fold in hard, unforgiving strokes. A long, strangled moan left her throat when his cool tongue then began flicking relentlessly at her clit. Given how worked up and desperate for release her body was, it took him mere moments to send her hurtling over the edge.
"Unhhh, Carlisle," she cried out when she came, back arching as she pulled forcefully on his hair.
As soon as the momentary haze passed, she was aware of being manoeuvred within Carlisle's strong arms. He'd moved them to one side of his bed, facing the massive, gilded mirror that spanned the most of the adjacent wall. Bella knelt on the very edge, hair falling in haphazard waves around her face, wearing nothing but the black heels on her feet. Carlisle stood on the floor behind, gripping her arms, fully clothed in his pale blue shirt and black slacks, but for his pants being undone. She knew from the still-black hue of his eyes and his ravishing stare that he was far from done with her.
Her reflection's doe eyes gleamed back at her with unconcealed, feverish anticipation.
His knee came up to nudge her legs apart, and he stepped in between them, bringing his stiff erection flush against her. He leaned down over her shoulder, bringing their heads together. Watching their reflection in the mirror, as she was.
"Isabella," he murmured against her ear, speaking for the first time since he'd blown his load in her mouth. His dark gaze in the mirror made her limbs freeze instinctively. Where Bella could not take it seriously on most men, Carlisle really took smouldering to a whole new, inhuman level.
"Watch."
She watched.
He pushed down on her upper back so she was bent over halfway, then pulled her arms behind her, securely holding her forearms in one of his hands. Then he lined himself up at her entrance. In one swift movement, he'd thrust his cock into her dripping pussy, buried to the hilt.
She cried out at the sudden sensation, head dropping as her eyes rolled back. Moaning softly, she waited, breathing hard.
When he didn't move again, she looked up at him in the mirror, nearly crying out in frustration.
"Watch," he reminded quietly—then began pounding into her. Hard.
Bella watched, as promised. She watched her lips part in silent screams or loud keens with every slam of Carlisle's cock inside her. She watched how her breasts bounced with his merciless pace, forced into prominence by the way her arms were pinned back and the arch in her back. She watched as the planes of her beautiful Adonis' face contorted with every grunt of his pleasure. She watched the way his dark eyes watched her possessively, as they claimed each other in a primal dance as old as time.
The lovers flew towards their crest in harmony, her walls clenching around him as he emptied his seed into her. Bella's head tilted back as she cried out her release, still not daring to take her eyes off their reflection. Bliss tore through her senses in shockwaves. Carlisle growled and sank his teeth into her neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to cement his earlier mark on her throat, pumping hard into her wet heat.
Minutes later, after he'd fetched a warm washcloth to lovingly clean her up, he lay them down on his bed, draping her small body over his and gently wrapping her up in his arms as they came down from their high.
"Thank you, Bella," he murmured reverently, pressing tiny kisses to her neck.
Bella laughed breathily against his jaw. "Anytime, doctor."
He nipped at her playfully, and she heard the low growl in his words. "Though I'm not sure I want to know where you learned to do that."