Black and White
Title: Black and White
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Jacob/Bella
Genre: Romance, PWP
Warnings: Explicit sex, BDSM
Summary: Jacob gives up phasing and it turns out to be harder than he thought, so Bella helps. A love story. Set in Eclipse AU future.
banner courtesy of majestamoniet
click here for awards and recommendations
How this happened:
ilovewolves : If you do change your mind about seeing your husband again and living a regular life, I am dying to read a DomJake story. <3
audreyii_fic : *claps hands over ears* Not listening, not listening...
ilovewolves: Just think about it..leather, chains, collars and Jake taking out his Alpha frustations out on Bella, since he doesn't want to lead the pack. *fans self* Sweet baby Jesus.
audreyii_fic : I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. SHUT UP. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. (oh my god leather straps on the headboard and i am NOT DOING IT DO YOU HEAR ME!!!)
ilovewolves: [link to rather dark and extremely NSFW pic] Just sayin'. *shutting up*
audreyii_fic : *blink*
A/N: I wrote this in four hours. I offer no excuse whatsoever. There's none to give.
Black and White
[the battle drums]
Princess Mononoke
When she walks into the restaurant, his eyes go to her stockings instantly. She manages to keep a straight face. She's late because of the stockings -- they'd gone missing, and when she finally found them under the chest of drawers they'd picked up some dust that stood out against the black nylon and so they'd had to be washed -- but it's worth it. Jared and Kim are munching on bread (this was all Kim's idea, a double-date at a real restaurant once in awhile and have some adult conversation, which considering Kim is at home with a six-month-old every day is an understandable desire), and the bottle of wine is already half empty. Bella takes the details in without seeing them, because the only thing she cares about is that Jacob's eyes are dialated and he can't stop staring at her legs, because he knows what stockings mean.
The waitress returns and Jacob orders for her.
***
It starts when Jacob stops phasing.
Sam is done. He's been done for a long time, really, but when he officially declares that he is stepping down as Alpha it still sends shockwaves through the Pack. It is difficult to imagine life without Sam in charge. He's controlled so much of their lives for so many years, and now, to be without him... well, that is hard to wrap their minds around.
And then the second shock -- that Jacob won't take up the mantle. In some ways, that is even more unsettling. It had been surprising enough that Jacob hadn't taken what was rightfully his back when he first phased, but he'd been young then, and his head had been full of the pale pretty girl and trying to keep her alive. But those days are over. He is six years older, in the prime of adulthood, married to the pale pretty girl, and is more than capable of taking over the responsibility he was born to. But Jacob refuses, and then decides to quit phasing entirely, making it even worse.
Many of them blame the pale pretty girl. He's doing it for her, they grumble. The way everything has always been for her. Bella knows what they are thinking, and voices her concerns to her husband; Jacob promptly assures her that even if she'd married the bloodsucker, turned, and disappeared from his life forever, he would still have drowned himself in the Pacific before accepting the position of Alpha. She teases him for being melodramatic, he teases her for being paranoid, and they both feel better.
Well, mostly. Because even though he knows he's made the right decision, inside, he burns.
***
Kim isn't quite sure what to make of the unusual dynamic between the couple sitting across the table. Bella isn't speaking unless spoken to. Jacob is calm, steady, controlling the conversation, but not joking around at all. And when Jared steals the quickest glance down Bella's blouse (Kim notices, but it doesn't bother her -- after all, Jared's married, not dead, and she's been so tired since the baby was born; the last time they tried to have sex she literally fell asleep in the middle) Jacob stares at him so hard that Jared shrinks in his seat. There's no anger, no jealousy, only a simple but clear You may not look at what is mine. It is more effective than if Jacob had reached across the table and punched Jared in the jaw.
If Bella is bothered by any of this, Kim can't tell. It's... interesting.
Dinner wraps up quickly. Bella walks towards her truck, since they drove separately (Jacob needed to come straight from the garage, he's still wearing his jeans but at least he keeps a button-up shirt in his office for dress-up emergencies like this one, though hell he could make a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts look classy). She reaches for her keys and Jacob shakes his head. No, he says, we'll take the Rabbit.
Bella raises an eyebrow. The truck might get towed if we leave it in the parking lot overnight.
If that happens I'll pick it up in the morning. Get in the car.
She obeys.
He drives, of course.
***
In the end, it is Paul who takes over. The Pack is nervous, but the responsibility sits well with him; his aggressiveness calms, his arrogance becomes tempered with maturity and somehow it all works. Things slide into comfortable familiarity faster than anyone expected.
But Jacob burns, and Bella watches him burning.
It had been easy to accept Sam as Alpha, being as he was years older and had been leading since long before Jacob had known that the world was filled with monsters and demons and fangs. But his blood rebels against Paul. When he stops phasing it takes away the sting a bit, but in other ways it makes things harder; the wolf calls to him constantly, hounding him, telling him to taketaketake what should be his. Keeping the wolf quiet takes so. much. effort. all. the. time.
The most galling thing is that Sam doesn't seem to have the least bit of trouble. Jacob growls at him about this; Sam merely shrugs and says that he was never meant to be Alpha, and giving it all up was more of a relief than anything else. He tells Jacob that he is probably having a harder time because he is going against that which was predetermined. Like trying to shake an imprint.
This makes Jacob fight even harder.
Bella sees, of course. It's clearer to her than it is to him, because they've always known each other so better than they've known themselves. (Sometimes she wonders if they would have survived separately. She thinks that yes, they would have, but they would have gone through life confused and a little empty. She's glad it didn't work out that way.) She sees how his hands shake, how he snaps at her and everyone else, how he sits on their porch and stares out at the woods for hours at a time. And she worries.
(After a month of this she suggests that maybe it isn't a good idea to quit entirely, maybe he should phase once in awhile, since the wolf is such a part of who he is. He loses his temper with her like he never has before and shouts himself hoarse, and she suddenly understands that it isn't just about phasing, it's his pride, he's gotten his pride tied up in all of this and he is determined not to change his mind. She still worries, but part of her is ridiculously reassured, because now she sees what it would be like if he imprinted, how he would fight with tooth and claw metaphorically if not literally. And besides, if anyone can beat destiny, it is Jacob.)
***
He is not rushed -- he is in control, he is absolutely in control, more over himself than her, even. He drives the speed limit to get home. They walk at a normal pace into the house, her not-too-high-but-still-there heels sinking slightly into the soft grass.
Bella click clicks into the living room, her heels tapping a rhythm against the hardwood floor. Jacob turns the lock, looks at her for a long moment (lingering on her blouse, she does love her blouse, the only silk she owns because owning silk is a mistake when you're as clumsy as she is, but it whispers against her skin and makes her think of how he sighs into her neck after he's spent). He tells her to take off her clothes.
She unbuttons her blouse that she loves and tosses it onto the armchair. She unzips the back of her skirt, slowly, and when he hears the rasp of the metal teeth coming apart a muscle in his jaw twitches, the first flicker of visible restraint she's gotten from him yet that night, and it's gone again almost instantly. She lets the skirt fall to the floor. Steps out of it. Leaves it there. She stands in her black satin bra, her black satin panties, her black stockings, her black not-too-high-but-still-there heels. She does not shrink from his gaze.
Her hands go to the back of her bra, but he tells her to leave it on, and she lets go of the clasps. Then he orders her into the bedroom.
He still hasn't touched her and that makes her wetter than if he had.
***
Six weeks.
Eight weeks.
Twelve weeks without phasing, and it isn't getting any easier. Jacob doesn't sleep, he barely eats, he makes stupid mistakes at work that leave him breaking furniture in a rage. One day Paul happens to stop into the garage and Jacob nearly takes his head off, fists clenched, murder in his eyes.
He burns inside and out but he still. won't. budge.
Bella watches as he sits in the living room, on the couch, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking from the constant constant always constant effort of controlling the wolf, and she can't take it anymore. She stands in front of him (he won't look at her, he almost never looks at her now, and she knows it is shame at his own weakness that keeps him away and even though she understands it hurts that he won't come to her for help) and doesn't touch him, just waits for a moment, watches him destroy himself by trying to fight what his soul screams at him to do.
She says, You want to take what's yours.
Yes. (The admission is through gritted teeth.)
Well, I'm yours. So take me.
He looks up at her. She meets his eyes without flinching.
Within seconds she is pressed against the wall and he is in her to the hilt, growling her name.
***
Jacob tells her to lie back on the bed. He tilts his head to the side as she reclines, observing her detachedly, making quick and firm decisions about what he wants as he unbuttons his shirt and throws it into the corner without paying attention to where it has fallen. (This is how they lose her stockings and other clothes. Bella is forever finding underwear in the strangest places.)
She waits for his direction, her breath starting to come faster, her breasts pushing against the restraint of her bra. (She wishes she could take it off -- the underwire is poking her side -- but that is not her decision to make.) Finally, he opens the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out the black tape, the black fabric.
You don't get to see, he says. And you don't get to touch.
Bella nods (the ache between her legs is so strong that it hurts). I don't get to see. I don't get to touch.
Jacob almost -- almost -- smiles.
He walks around to the side of the bed and his fingers barely graze her skin as he wraps the tape around her wrists tightly. Then he threads another length of tape between the ties, pulls her arms over her head, binds her to the bars that serve as a headboard. (They got a new bed not that long ago, trading in an old wooden frame for a solid metal one. It was a wise decision.) He takes the black fabric and ties it over her eyes, and the world goes dark.
Her other senses compensate almost immediately. She can hear his breath, the rustle of his jeans as he walks. She feels the tiniest breeze against her naked belly (she prickles with gooseflesh). The cotton sheets are soft against her back. Her wrists throb as blood fights to push through her veins. And the springs creak as he climbs into the bed and kneels between her knees, and the unending unimaginable still incomprehensible heat of him radiates and warms the sensitive skin of her thighs. She spreads her legs wider and hopes, but he still doesn't touch her, and it is taking a lot of effort not to whimper and wrap a leg around his waist to pull his weight down. He likes it when she does that, she knows he does, but he always punishes her for her assertiveness by making her wait even longer. Some nights that is good. Right now she doesn't want to wait an instant longer than she has to.
If Bella wasn't blindfolded, she would see how Jacob looks at her, how his dialated eyes rove every inch of her skin, how his lips silently form the word mine over and over and over and over.
***
Afterward Jacob still shakes, but this time it is from misery. His hands tremble as they touch the bruises on her wrists, and his lips barely brush her skin as he presses feather-light kisses to the purple bite marks on her back. I'm sorry, he whispers. I'm so sorry, honey.
Don't be, Bella says, almost annoyed with him for harshing her post-orgasmic mellow (it had been weeks since he'd touched her and this was exactly what she needed). Don't be sorry. It was good.
He shakes his head.
She rolls over in bed to face him (they staggered there afterward, Jacob carrying her because moving was painful in a delicious sort of way) and says, If I had told you stop, would you have?
It takes him a long moment to respond, and she knows it is because he isn't sure about the answer. (She, however, is). Yes, he says finally. I would have stopped.
Then what's the problem?
He touches her face, still breathing heavily, ashamed beyond anything he's ever felt or imagined. He has failed. He should have made the drive in his blood disappear under strength of will. It should have gone when he told it to go. But he wasn't strong enough, he lost to the wolf and he took it out on his Bells, his wife who means more to him than the whole world and now she has bruises on her wrists and bites on her white shoulders and had to be carried to bed because he'd slammed into her so hard that she couldn't walk. He will never forgive himself.
Bella knows what he is thinking and is not happy about it. Jacob, she says firmly. Do you feel better?
He nods, a little sick. (The guilt burns in his veins like acid, but it's true. The wolf doesn't howl. He was in control and he feels so. much. better.)
Good, she says, kissing him. Me too. So this is what we'll do now, when you need it.
He stares at her, wide-eyed, always younger than her by two and a half years. And he shivers when she leans close to his ear and whispers, You don't have to fight it with me. Take what's yours.
The wolf inside rumbles in satisfaction.
Jacob sleeps for fifteen hours straight.
***
There's no foreplay. He hooks his fingers into her panties, pulls them to the side, and pushes into her slowly but firmly. (It doesn't matter how wet or ready she is or that they've been doing this for so many years now -- it still hurts every time, just a little, just for those first few thrusts. The stretching is so much and it burns. It might be because he's big, as big as the rest of him is, perfectly proportional; or maybe it's because she's small. She's never been with anyone else, so how would she know? She wonders idly about it sometimes, but at the end of the day it doesn't matter that much. The burning is familiar, and it excites her, an instinctual response to what is about to happen, because the pain means good things are coming.)
He waits. She adjusts. And then he starts to fuck her.
There's having sex, there's love-making, and there's fucking -- they are all different things with their own strengths and weaknesses. This is fucking, patient and hard. He is completely, entirely in control, and she can't see a thing, he won't touch her and she can't touch him (she starts to pull at her bindings because the instinct to hold on to him is so strong, but the tape doesn't give an inch), and it feels so good.
Jacob, on the other hand, can see everything, and he likes it that way. Her breasts heave against her bra, and he thinks maybe he'll run his hands over them soon but not yet, because right now looking is good enough. The only sensory input his skin is getting is the feeling of sliding in and out of her (tight she's always so tight), moving slickly, and he wants to go faster but he's not going to do that yet either. It's hard and slow for now. Her hips move a little when he pushes inside her all the way (he remembers the first time he realized that she could take him in like that, that there was room, that he could bury himself in her entirely and she would cling to his shoulders and sigh when he did, it was so many years ago now but still he remembers) and he decides that now he will touch her. He traces his thumb along the line of her stocking, where black nylon meets white skin. All of her lingerie is black, because he likes the contrast. Everything else is shades of gray, but this is black and white.
He still hasn't taken his jeans off. They're only partially slid down his hips. She feels the denim rubbing against the inside of her thigh, she moves to meet each thrust, he's hitting the right places, she's starting to stumble sharply down the ravine towards her climax.
Then he leans over her, placing his hands on either side of her ribs, hovering but not touching (but he can't stop his heat and it strokes her skin in a phantom caress). No, he tells her quietly. You don't come until I tell you to.
She nods. I don't come until you tell me to.
He speeds up.
***
It doesn't take Jacob long to stop feeling guilty.
Bella always sees the signs a good week before he does, knows the pressure is building when he starts tossing restlessly in his sleep, when his hands shake while making coffee, when he snaps at her for no good reason. (Privately she thinks of it as Alpha PMS. She does not say this out loud.) And then she pushes him just enough for him to get the hint, so that he can take the edge off before it gets too bad and he can't keep control with her the way he wants to.
And, oh, does he ever like control.
After awhile she doesn't need to push anymore, just gives the little signals. She wears stockings when it is going to be one of those nights, because he always stares when she wears them. She builds up a decent supply of lingerie. He starts bringing home different things to try, and finally he doesn't need reassurance anymore, he just does what he was born to do. He takes charge. He controls himself by controlling her. And after, the shaking goes away, he sleeps, he stops glaring at Paul whenever they happen to see one another. They have fun and make love the way it always is with them, sweet and sexy and playful, and it's good. He's happy. He goes back to being her Jacob.
(The other one is her Jacob too, maybe even more so. It's another thing she doesn't say out loud. She knows he doesn't like to think of it that way.)
But when the pressure builds, he ties her up. He blindfolds her. He makes her crawl. He has her in every position imaginable. He leaves marks when he feels like it. He gives orders and she obeys. He takes what is his. But he never, ever gags her, and she knows why -- he still wants to make sure he'll hear it if she says Stop.
He is in control, but Bella knows which of them has the real power, and it turns her on like nothing else.
***
He is starting to pound instead of thrust (in out in out in out) and she is on fire, helpless moans coming out of her throat, and she tries to arch up against him but he always pulls away before she makes contact. She doesn't get to touch. All she can do is listen to his breathing and feel the scrape of his jeans against her legs as a counterbalance to the ache in her center.
He watches Bella move as the wolf howls at him to taketaketake.
The friction is building inside her and the torture is awful, painful, so perfect. She gasps his name, frustrated almost to the point of tears. She can't come unless he says she can.
Jacob's lips brush across her earlobe. Say please.
Please.
And that is it.
He growls low in his throat as he pulls out, grabs her hips, and flips her over onto her stomach. Her wrists get crossed which keeps her from turning all the way, so he leans forward and tears the tape with sharp teeth, freeing her from her bindings, and he wraps a handful of long hair around his fist and pulls her up onto her knees. Then he is inside her again and slamming hard, listening to the wolf, taketaketake, taking what is his, what belongs to him. The hand not in her hair is holding her thigh and he feels both flesh and nylon under his palm.
She is crying out, meeting each thrust with a movement of her own, the whole world dark and still it's not enough, until finally he leans forward (his blazing chest pressing against her cool back) and says, Now. You can come now.
She does. Hard.
A half second later he is sinking his teeth into her shoulder, groaning against her skin, his whole body shuddering. Then the shuddering slows, lessens into trembles, and he leans forward, pressing her flat into the mattress with his weight. (He's heavy. She doesn't mind.) They breathe together.
After a few moments, Jacob raises himself onto his elbows and gently unties the blindfold. Bella blinks a few times, then sighs, leaning her face into the pillows. He covers the bruise on her shoulder with butterfly kisses, the way he always does after he leaves a mark.
Feel better? she asks.
Mm-hmm, he replies. You okay?
She makes a long, affirmative, contented, well-spent noise. He chuckles and nuzzles the back of her neck, first bringing his hands up to unhook her bra and slide the straps from her shoulders, then moving towards her feet to peel off her stockings one at a time, kissing the back of each knee. He pulls her underwear off and finally takes the time to removes his jeans. Then Jacob pulls a thoroughly naked Bella against his body and relaxes into her, the wolf quieted.
And they both sleep well.
***
Edited 7/20/10 to change a few words.
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Jacob/Bella
Genre: Romance, PWP
Warnings: Explicit sex, BDSM
Summary: Jacob gives up phasing and it turns out to be harder than he thought, so Bella helps. A love story. Set in Eclipse AU future.
banner courtesy of majestamoniet
click here for awards and recommendations
How this happened:
ilovewolves : If you do change your mind about seeing your husband again and living a regular life, I am dying to read a DomJake story. <3
audreyii_fic : *claps hands over ears* Not listening, not listening...
ilovewolves: Just think about it..leather, chains, collars and Jake taking out his Alpha frustations out on Bella, since he doesn't want to lead the pack. *fans self* Sweet baby Jesus.
audreyii_fic : I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. SHUT UP. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. (oh my god leather straps on the headboard and i am NOT DOING IT DO YOU HEAR ME!!!)
ilovewolves: [link to rather dark and extremely NSFW pic] Just sayin'. *shutting up*
![[link to rather dark and extremely NSFW pic]](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vTwY08DXa7w/TDeKmKyIYlI/AAAAAAAABC4/uXc6VSwwDwA/s1600/JACOB.bmp){kind=link}
audreyii_fic : *blink*
A/N: I wrote this in four hours. I offer no excuse whatsoever. There's none to give.
Black and White
[the battle drums]
Princess Mononoke
When she walks into the restaurant, his eyes go to her stockings instantly. She manages to keep a straight face. She's late because of the stockings -- they'd gone missing, and when she finally found them under the chest of drawers they'd picked up some dust that stood out against the black nylon and so they'd had to be washed -- but it's worth it. Jared and Kim are munching on bread (this was all Kim's idea, a double-date at a real restaurant once in awhile and have some adult conversation, which considering Kim is at home with a six-month-old every day is an understandable desire), and the bottle of wine is already half empty. Bella takes the details in without seeing them, because the only thing she cares about is that Jacob's eyes are dialated and he can't stop staring at her legs, because he knows what stockings mean.
The waitress returns and Jacob orders for her.
***
It starts when Jacob stops phasing.
Sam is done. He's been done for a long time, really, but when he officially declares that he is stepping down as Alpha it still sends shockwaves through the Pack. It is difficult to imagine life without Sam in charge. He's controlled so much of their lives for so many years, and now, to be without him... well, that is hard to wrap their minds around.
And then the second shock -- that Jacob won't take up the mantle. In some ways, that is even more unsettling. It had been surprising enough that Jacob hadn't taken what was rightfully his back when he first phased, but he'd been young then, and his head had been full of the pale pretty girl and trying to keep her alive. But those days are over. He is six years older, in the prime of adulthood, married to the pale pretty girl, and is more than capable of taking over the responsibility he was born to. But Jacob refuses, and then decides to quit phasing entirely, making it even worse.
Many of them blame the pale pretty girl. He's doing it for her, they grumble. The way everything has always been for her. Bella knows what they are thinking, and voices her concerns to her husband; Jacob promptly assures her that even if she'd married the bloodsucker, turned, and disappeared from his life forever, he would still have drowned himself in the Pacific before accepting the position of Alpha. She teases him for being melodramatic, he teases her for being paranoid, and they both feel better.
Well, mostly. Because even though he knows he's made the right decision, inside, he burns.
***
Kim isn't quite sure what to make of the unusual dynamic between the couple sitting across the table. Bella isn't speaking unless spoken to. Jacob is calm, steady, controlling the conversation, but not joking around at all. And when Jared steals the quickest glance down Bella's blouse (Kim notices, but it doesn't bother her -- after all, Jared's married, not dead, and she's been so tired since the baby was born; the last time they tried to have sex she literally fell asleep in the middle) Jacob stares at him so hard that Jared shrinks in his seat. There's no anger, no jealousy, only a simple but clear You may not look at what is mine. It is more effective than if Jacob had reached across the table and punched Jared in the jaw.
If Bella is bothered by any of this, Kim can't tell. It's... interesting.
Dinner wraps up quickly. Bella walks towards her truck, since they drove separately (Jacob needed to come straight from the garage, he's still wearing his jeans but at least he keeps a button-up shirt in his office for dress-up emergencies like this one, though hell he could make a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts look classy). She reaches for her keys and Jacob shakes his head. No, he says, we'll take the Rabbit.
Bella raises an eyebrow. The truck might get towed if we leave it in the parking lot overnight.
If that happens I'll pick it up in the morning. Get in the car.
She obeys.
He drives, of course.
***
In the end, it is Paul who takes over. The Pack is nervous, but the responsibility sits well with him; his aggressiveness calms, his arrogance becomes tempered with maturity and somehow it all works. Things slide into comfortable familiarity faster than anyone expected.
But Jacob burns, and Bella watches him burning.
It had been easy to accept Sam as Alpha, being as he was years older and had been leading since long before Jacob had known that the world was filled with monsters and demons and fangs. But his blood rebels against Paul. When he stops phasing it takes away the sting a bit, but in other ways it makes things harder; the wolf calls to him constantly, hounding him, telling him to taketaketake what should be his. Keeping the wolf quiet takes so. much. effort. all. the. time.
The most galling thing is that Sam doesn't seem to have the least bit of trouble. Jacob growls at him about this; Sam merely shrugs and says that he was never meant to be Alpha, and giving it all up was more of a relief than anything else. He tells Jacob that he is probably having a harder time because he is going against that which was predetermined. Like trying to shake an imprint.
This makes Jacob fight even harder.
Bella sees, of course. It's clearer to her than it is to him, because they've always known each other so better than they've known themselves. (Sometimes she wonders if they would have survived separately. She thinks that yes, they would have, but they would have gone through life confused and a little empty. She's glad it didn't work out that way.) She sees how his hands shake, how he snaps at her and everyone else, how he sits on their porch and stares out at the woods for hours at a time. And she worries.
(After a month of this she suggests that maybe it isn't a good idea to quit entirely, maybe he should phase once in awhile, since the wolf is such a part of who he is. He loses his temper with her like he never has before and shouts himself hoarse, and she suddenly understands that it isn't just about phasing, it's his pride, he's gotten his pride tied up in all of this and he is determined not to change his mind. She still worries, but part of her is ridiculously reassured, because now she sees what it would be like if he imprinted, how he would fight with tooth and claw metaphorically if not literally. And besides, if anyone can beat destiny, it is Jacob.)
***
He is not rushed -- he is in control, he is absolutely in control, more over himself than her, even. He drives the speed limit to get home. They walk at a normal pace into the house, her not-too-high-but-still-there heels sinking slightly into the soft grass.
Bella click clicks into the living room, her heels tapping a rhythm against the hardwood floor. Jacob turns the lock, looks at her for a long moment (lingering on her blouse, she does love her blouse, the only silk she owns because owning silk is a mistake when you're as clumsy as she is, but it whispers against her skin and makes her think of how he sighs into her neck after he's spent). He tells her to take off her clothes.
She unbuttons her blouse that she loves and tosses it onto the armchair. She unzips the back of her skirt, slowly, and when he hears the rasp of the metal teeth coming apart a muscle in his jaw twitches, the first flicker of visible restraint she's gotten from him yet that night, and it's gone again almost instantly. She lets the skirt fall to the floor. Steps out of it. Leaves it there. She stands in her black satin bra, her black satin panties, her black stockings, her black not-too-high-but-still-there heels. She does not shrink from his gaze.
Her hands go to the back of her bra, but he tells her to leave it on, and she lets go of the clasps. Then he orders her into the bedroom.
He still hasn't touched her and that makes her wetter than if he had.
***
Six weeks.
Eight weeks.
Twelve weeks without phasing, and it isn't getting any easier. Jacob doesn't sleep, he barely eats, he makes stupid mistakes at work that leave him breaking furniture in a rage. One day Paul happens to stop into the garage and Jacob nearly takes his head off, fists clenched, murder in his eyes.
He burns inside and out but he still. won't. budge.
Bella watches as he sits in the living room, on the couch, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking from the constant constant always constant effort of controlling the wolf, and she can't take it anymore. She stands in front of him (he won't look at her, he almost never looks at her now, and she knows it is shame at his own weakness that keeps him away and even though she understands it hurts that he won't come to her for help) and doesn't touch him, just waits for a moment, watches him destroy himself by trying to fight what his soul screams at him to do.
She says, You want to take what's yours.
Yes. (The admission is through gritted teeth.)
Well, I'm yours. So take me.
He looks up at her. She meets his eyes without flinching.
Within seconds she is pressed against the wall and he is in her to the hilt, growling her name.
***
Jacob tells her to lie back on the bed. He tilts his head to the side as she reclines, observing her detachedly, making quick and firm decisions about what he wants as he unbuttons his shirt and throws it into the corner without paying attention to where it has fallen. (This is how they lose her stockings and other clothes. Bella is forever finding underwear in the strangest places.)
She waits for his direction, her breath starting to come faster, her breasts pushing against the restraint of her bra. (She wishes she could take it off -- the underwire is poking her side -- but that is not her decision to make.) Finally, he opens the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out the black tape, the black fabric.
You don't get to see, he says. And you don't get to touch.
Bella nods (the ache between her legs is so strong that it hurts). I don't get to see. I don't get to touch.
Jacob almost -- almost -- smiles.
He walks around to the side of the bed and his fingers barely graze her skin as he wraps the tape around her wrists tightly. Then he threads another length of tape between the ties, pulls her arms over her head, binds her to the bars that serve as a headboard. (They got a new bed not that long ago, trading in an old wooden frame for a solid metal one. It was a wise decision.) He takes the black fabric and ties it over her eyes, and the world goes dark.
Her other senses compensate almost immediately. She can hear his breath, the rustle of his jeans as he walks. She feels the tiniest breeze against her naked belly (she prickles with gooseflesh). The cotton sheets are soft against her back. Her wrists throb as blood fights to push through her veins. And the springs creak as he climbs into the bed and kneels between her knees, and the unending unimaginable still incomprehensible heat of him radiates and warms the sensitive skin of her thighs. She spreads her legs wider and hopes, but he still doesn't touch her, and it is taking a lot of effort not to whimper and wrap a leg around his waist to pull his weight down. He likes it when she does that, she knows he does, but he always punishes her for her assertiveness by making her wait even longer. Some nights that is good. Right now she doesn't want to wait an instant longer than she has to.
If Bella wasn't blindfolded, she would see how Jacob looks at her, how his dialated eyes rove every inch of her skin, how his lips silently form the word mine over and over and over and over.
***
Afterward Jacob still shakes, but this time it is from misery. His hands tremble as they touch the bruises on her wrists, and his lips barely brush her skin as he presses feather-light kisses to the purple bite marks on her back. I'm sorry, he whispers. I'm so sorry, honey.
Don't be, Bella says, almost annoyed with him for harshing her post-orgasmic mellow (it had been weeks since he'd touched her and this was exactly what she needed). Don't be sorry. It was good.
He shakes his head.
She rolls over in bed to face him (they staggered there afterward, Jacob carrying her because moving was painful in a delicious sort of way) and says, If I had told you stop, would you have?
It takes him a long moment to respond, and she knows it is because he isn't sure about the answer. (She, however, is). Yes, he says finally. I would have stopped.
Then what's the problem?
He touches her face, still breathing heavily, ashamed beyond anything he's ever felt or imagined. He has failed. He should have made the drive in his blood disappear under strength of will. It should have gone when he told it to go. But he wasn't strong enough, he lost to the wolf and he took it out on his Bells, his wife who means more to him than the whole world and now she has bruises on her wrists and bites on her white shoulders and had to be carried to bed because he'd slammed into her so hard that she couldn't walk. He will never forgive himself.
Bella knows what he is thinking and is not happy about it. Jacob, she says firmly. Do you feel better?
He nods, a little sick. (The guilt burns in his veins like acid, but it's true. The wolf doesn't howl. He was in control and he feels so. much. better.)
Good, she says, kissing him. Me too. So this is what we'll do now, when you need it.
He stares at her, wide-eyed, always younger than her by two and a half years. And he shivers when she leans close to his ear and whispers, You don't have to fight it with me. Take what's yours.
The wolf inside rumbles in satisfaction.
Jacob sleeps for fifteen hours straight.
***
There's no foreplay. He hooks his fingers into her panties, pulls them to the side, and pushes into her slowly but firmly. (It doesn't matter how wet or ready she is or that they've been doing this for so many years now -- it still hurts every time, just a little, just for those first few thrusts. The stretching is so much and it burns. It might be because he's big, as big as the rest of him is, perfectly proportional; or maybe it's because she's small. She's never been with anyone else, so how would she know? She wonders idly about it sometimes, but at the end of the day it doesn't matter that much. The burning is familiar, and it excites her, an instinctual response to what is about to happen, because the pain means good things are coming.)
He waits. She adjusts. And then he starts to fuck her.
There's having sex, there's love-making, and there's fucking -- they are all different things with their own strengths and weaknesses. This is fucking, patient and hard. He is completely, entirely in control, and she can't see a thing, he won't touch her and she can't touch him (she starts to pull at her bindings because the instinct to hold on to him is so strong, but the tape doesn't give an inch), and it feels so good.
Jacob, on the other hand, can see everything, and he likes it that way. Her breasts heave against her bra, and he thinks maybe he'll run his hands over them soon but not yet, because right now looking is good enough. The only sensory input his skin is getting is the feeling of sliding in and out of her (tight she's always so tight), moving slickly, and he wants to go faster but he's not going to do that yet either. It's hard and slow for now. Her hips move a little when he pushes inside her all the way (he remembers the first time he realized that she could take him in like that, that there was room, that he could bury himself in her entirely and she would cling to his shoulders and sigh when he did, it was so many years ago now but still he remembers) and he decides that now he will touch her. He traces his thumb along the line of her stocking, where black nylon meets white skin. All of her lingerie is black, because he likes the contrast. Everything else is shades of gray, but this is black and white.
He still hasn't taken his jeans off. They're only partially slid down his hips. She feels the denim rubbing against the inside of her thigh, she moves to meet each thrust, he's hitting the right places, she's starting to stumble sharply down the ravine towards her climax.
Then he leans over her, placing his hands on either side of her ribs, hovering but not touching (but he can't stop his heat and it strokes her skin in a phantom caress). No, he tells her quietly. You don't come until I tell you to.
She nods. I don't come until you tell me to.
He speeds up.
***
It doesn't take Jacob long to stop feeling guilty.
Bella always sees the signs a good week before he does, knows the pressure is building when he starts tossing restlessly in his sleep, when his hands shake while making coffee, when he snaps at her for no good reason. (Privately she thinks of it as Alpha PMS. She does not say this out loud.) And then she pushes him just enough for him to get the hint, so that he can take the edge off before it gets too bad and he can't keep control with her the way he wants to.
And, oh, does he ever like control.
After awhile she doesn't need to push anymore, just gives the little signals. She wears stockings when it is going to be one of those nights, because he always stares when she wears them. She builds up a decent supply of lingerie. He starts bringing home different things to try, and finally he doesn't need reassurance anymore, he just does what he was born to do. He takes charge. He controls himself by controlling her. And after, the shaking goes away, he sleeps, he stops glaring at Paul whenever they happen to see one another. They have fun and make love the way it always is with them, sweet and sexy and playful, and it's good. He's happy. He goes back to being her Jacob.
(The other one is her Jacob too, maybe even more so. It's another thing she doesn't say out loud. She knows he doesn't like to think of it that way.)
But when the pressure builds, he ties her up. He blindfolds her. He makes her crawl. He has her in every position imaginable. He leaves marks when he feels like it. He gives orders and she obeys. He takes what is his. But he never, ever gags her, and she knows why -- he still wants to make sure he'll hear it if she says Stop.
He is in control, but Bella knows which of them has the real power, and it turns her on like nothing else.
***
He is starting to pound instead of thrust (in out in out in out) and she is on fire, helpless moans coming out of her throat, and she tries to arch up against him but he always pulls away before she makes contact. She doesn't get to touch. All she can do is listen to his breathing and feel the scrape of his jeans against her legs as a counterbalance to the ache in her center.
He watches Bella move as the wolf howls at him to taketaketake.
The friction is building inside her and the torture is awful, painful, so perfect. She gasps his name, frustrated almost to the point of tears. She can't come unless he says she can.
Jacob's lips brush across her earlobe. Say please.
Please.
And that is it.
He growls low in his throat as he pulls out, grabs her hips, and flips her over onto her stomach. Her wrists get crossed which keeps her from turning all the way, so he leans forward and tears the tape with sharp teeth, freeing her from her bindings, and he wraps a handful of long hair around his fist and pulls her up onto her knees. Then he is inside her again and slamming hard, listening to the wolf, taketaketake, taking what is his, what belongs to him. The hand not in her hair is holding her thigh and he feels both flesh and nylon under his palm.
She is crying out, meeting each thrust with a movement of her own, the whole world dark and still it's not enough, until finally he leans forward (his blazing chest pressing against her cool back) and says, Now. You can come now.
She does. Hard.
A half second later he is sinking his teeth into her shoulder, groaning against her skin, his whole body shuddering. Then the shuddering slows, lessens into trembles, and he leans forward, pressing her flat into the mattress with his weight. (He's heavy. She doesn't mind.) They breathe together.
After a few moments, Jacob raises himself onto his elbows and gently unties the blindfold. Bella blinks a few times, then sighs, leaning her face into the pillows. He covers the bruise on her shoulder with butterfly kisses, the way he always does after he leaves a mark.
Feel better? she asks.
Mm-hmm, he replies. You okay?
She makes a long, affirmative, contented, well-spent noise. He chuckles and nuzzles the back of her neck, first bringing his hands up to unhook her bra and slide the straps from her shoulders, then moving towards her feet to peel off her stockings one at a time, kissing the back of each knee. He pulls her underwear off and finally takes the time to removes his jeans. Then Jacob pulls a thoroughly naked Bella against his body and relaxes into her, the wolf quieted.
And they both sleep well.
***
Edited 7/20/10 to change a few words.