ilsuocantante gets her groove on with "Tropic of Virgo"

ilsuocantante

Tropic of Virgo


17


In.a.blue.bathrobe

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I know most everyone in the fandom has read Tropic of Virgo, (and if not, please take note of my sternface and bitchbrow - get thee to it. I'll wait. ::waits::) but I was particularly late to the game. I was sooo over high school fics, didn't want to experience another 20 chapters of push and pull and ridiculous misunderstandings only to have the facepalm moment of epiphany and then a few lovey chapters before they're married off and popping out babies in the epilogue. Or something. You know what I mean.

And not going to lie, there is some element of that in Tropic of Virgo. The entire premise is built upon one epic misunderstanding that caused me to throw my laptop across the room many, many times. I mean, how could they be so blind? And stupid? Argh.

So why did I read? And more importantly, why did I love? First, the language is beautiful. Gorgeous. There is poetry in every word. Secondly, the characters are complex and interesting and despite the secondhand facepalming I did nearly every single chapter.

And, let's not forget the reason we're all here - they're sexy. Not only sexy, but sensual. The UST is off the charts with them, and when they finally get to the real deal it's-- well, let's just say the scenario is a little disappointing. He doesn't even remember doing it afterward.  In fact, he thinks he had sex with someone else entirely.

Ouch, right?

But they get a do-over, and THAT, my friends, that is what we're going to talk about today.

Don't you all wish you got to reenact your first time? Make it more special? More intimate? Less hymen-rippy?

Yeah, me too.

In.a.blue.bathrobe does not disappoint in chapter 17, Balancing Act. There is poetry, there is UST, and there is such a pervasive air of sweet intimacy that it is almost too much. And oh yeah, it's hot.


I tried to catch my breath, my heart doing crazy things in my chest. I could still taste her, sweet peppermint and salt tears, and I licked my mouth where it had been split, testing the swelling, and Bella stared. Her lips were parted and her eyes were still on my mouth, and it hurt a little to smile, but I couldn't help it, because if she kept looking at me like that I was going to throw her on the hood of my car with that damned flippy skirt above her waist.

She'd said yes.

I asked a girl for something, and she said yes.

Sigh. So sweet. If you haven't read the story (shame on you) you might be thinking oh, how cute this little inexperienced Edward is. Wrong.


I'd never even been on a date before; Bella's birthday had been the closest I'd ever been to going out with a girl, and I'd just asked for sex, and she said yes. I knew I was doing this all backwards; you're supposed to go for ice cream and a movie and after the third time and meeting her parents you hope she'll let you in her underwear. I'd never had to do that; the girls were always there, no dinner or flowers necessary; I rarely even had to undo my own pants. And the first time I think I might want to do it right, I've messed up the one thing I do know how to do properly.

But I hadn't lost her yet, and now maybe I could fix what I'd screwed up, and I'd figure out how to keep her later.

He'd never even had to undo his own pants before. Unf. Why is that hot? I don't know. But Bella-- this simultaneously feisty and shy Bella who he has hurt horribly-- makes him awkward and want to do it right, and that makes it even hotter.

Bella is the one who has to take the lead. Bella is the one who has to guide him through every move they made together. It is the innocent leading the experienced and... sigh. It's so good.


She came in, closed the door and leaned back against it. I walked over to her, but she shook her head and looked at her toes. I stopped, waiting.

"Do you remember taking my socks off?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, "and I would have done it this time if you'd have let me."

"Well, I wasn't wearing a bra then, either, or… so I… um." Her nipples stood out clearly under the thin t-shirt she was wearing, and I swallowed as my mouth grew wet, wanting to taste them.

"I remember," I said. She blushed again, and I wished I could fix some of the awkwardness of the situation, but it was also erotic as hell and kind of precious at the same time.

"There was music, and it was dark," she said. She turned out the lights, but the evening still cast some light through the windows, and I was glad that I could see her face.

"Which song?" I asked. She looked at me, waiting, but I shook my head, recalling nothing. She went to the stereo dock with my old ipod and looked at it, then started flicking through the songs on my "Moody Bastards" playlist, but when she got to "Nothin'" I stopped her, and she smiled.

"It was loud," she said, but didn't turn it up. "You were on the bed."

I sat down cross legged on the middle of the blanket, with my elbows on my knees, waiting, wondering how far she would take it, hoping she would let me have her again, dying to know how it felt to be inside her, and if the flicker of remembered feeling was real or just in my head.

She smiled at me, and nodded. "Exactly like that." She walked over to the bed and sat down behind me, wrapping her bare legs around my jeans and her arms around my torso.

That is such a pretty mental picture, right? But wait, it gets better.


Her hands started to move, then, slow circles with palms flat against my chest. Her right hand was cooler than the left, from holding the ice cream, and it was fascinating. I leaned back into her, feeling the music, and slid my hands down the outside of her legs, and back up again, an instinctual move, but she nodded again. Her skin was beyond smooth and unbearably soft, and I marveled again at the electricity that pulsed through us when we touched skin to skin.

Then her hands were under my shirt, fingertips trailing over skin that felt like it had never been touched before, waiting dormant for her, and I shivered. She found my nipples and they hardened to stones, and she pressed into my back, and I laughed a little, overwhelmed by how good this felt, trying to hold still as she drew little circles just above the waistband of my jeans.

The music changed, and I couldn't take it anymore, and strained towards her hands. I felt her laughter against my back, and her palms pressed eagerly against my swollen cock, and I undid the buttons and her little hands were shoving my boxers out of the way and cupping me, and it was fabulous. I watched her fingers slip over the surface, feather-light and heavenly, exploring, sliding the tender skin over my rigid shaft. I looked huge in her little hands, but I'd never been so hard in life; my cock was just drooling to get inside her, pre-come leaking everywhere, and then her fingertips found it and rubbed it into the tip, and I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next, but if I didn't move her hands away I was going to explode in her palms.

I grabbed her wrists and spun around, and twisted her into my chest so that we were reversed, and whispered in her ear, "What was next?"

I was panting, fired up and unable to believe that this was real, not a dream.

Everything about this feels dreamlike and sensual. Just her hands on his skin, exploring with light touches and he's coming undone beneath her.


"This," she said, and took my hands and slid them under her shirt, and I felt stupid for asking, because there was nothing else more important than finally getting my hands on her skin and she felt amazing, soft skin and firm ripe flesh that fit my hands perfectly. I traced their shape with my fingers and squeezed them, avoiding her nipples until she was straining against my thumbs, and when I finally worked them in tight little circles she made a wanting mewling sound that fried my brain, and she started to squirm.

My face was buried in her hair and the delicate skin of her neck, and she'd reached up to my hair, pulling me closer, or harder, or both, and she was wiggling, bouncing in my hands and her ass shoving into my groin, and I was losing control. I couldn't wait for her to show me what to do anymore, I just reacted to her excitement and reached under her skirt, and nearly came when my hands found not the cotton barrier I was expecting, but skin and silky fur and wet hot girl.

We were both grinding to the music, and my fingers were in her, playing in the folds, and she was drenched and I made stiff circles with my fingers up high in time to her hips, and she was crying out, and this was going too fast, but she was close, I could tell by the arch of her spine, and the noises she made.

"Bella," I whispered, not knowing what I was supposed to do, wanting to encourage her, wanting her to wait for me, wanting to be inside.

"Skin and silky fur and wet hot girl." UNG. That is so much hotter and somehow dirtier than "bare pussy." This Edward is a poet in his own right, and the way he describes Bella, with so much tenderness than anything else, makes me squirm. I love the way the power shifts from Bella guiding him to them both lost in each other, panting and writhing and racing toward what they've waited so long to have.


She twisted then, pulling at me, and we were both frantic with it, and I was pushing her down on the bed, shoving my jeans out of the way, and her legs were around me, and I was fitting my cock to her, wetting the shaft with our own liquid and then I was in, and she hissed, but bucked her hips to me, drawing me deep. She was soaking wet, and the slide of her tight soft flesh against my naked skin was nothing I'd ever felt before, hot and slick and wild, pulling at me.

I raised up, and slid a hand between us, finding her clit with my thumb and I pressed, and she rocked beneath me, her hips telling me what rhythm she needed, and her fists were in my hair, and she was writhing underneath me, so close, crying my name, and then she came, pressing up to me while I pressed in, her little muscles squeezing down the length of me, and she was gorgeous. Her eyes were closed, and she was gasping, moaning my name, hair a mess everywhere, and she was mine, coming for me, and I started to move. I couldn't hold up any more, collapsing onto my elbows, riding her contractions, pulling back to thrust deep and lose myself in her, and I grabbed at the neck of her shirt to press my lips into the skin at her shoulder, and saw the bruise.

I froze.

"...the slide of her tight soft flesh against my naked skin..."

JESUS.

But wait a minute, what's wrong, Edward? In.a.blue.bathrobe lets Bella tell us.


"Stop," he said, "Not like this. Not you." His eyes were wide, and his jaw was hard.

I went still, not understanding, ice sliding down my spine, warring with skin and muscle still humming with pleasure.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, wondering what I'd done wrong. "You said I should show you what happened."

He sat up, and I did too, pulling my skirt down, embarrassed. He caught my wrists in his hand, and held me still. He pulled my shirt off my shoulder, and ran a light fingertip over the marks he'd left on my shoulder the night before last, two distinct semi-circles from his teeth, purple and green under the skin.

"I remember enough, Bella." His voice was thick. "and this is not what should have happened."

"What should have happened?" I asked, feeling awkward and inexperienced and foolish.

"This." He kissed me, a soft quick touch on my mouth, and pulled away an inch, breath sweet and warm on my face. He stayed there, waiting, and I tentatively kissed him back, feeling ridiculous; I'd had sex with this man twice and I didn't have any idea how to even kiss him, but then maybe I did, because when I sucked a little on his upper lip his breathing hitched and I could feel him smile. I was smiling, too, and laughing a little, as the absurdness of the day crashed over me, but then his hands were in my hair, cradling my head, bending me to his mouth and he tasted me and pulled away, waiting for me to follow. I slid my hands up to his neck and wound my fingers into his hair, pulling him to me, finding my way in his mouth, still a little shy until he gently sucked me in, and then I was wild, pushing at him with teeth and lips and breath and tongue until he pulled away, panting.

"And this," he said...

And this is where I'll leave you. If you have not read Tropic of Virgo, please do so right the fuck now. I'm not kidding. For every laptop chucking moment, there is a clit-twitching, heart swoony, poetically perverted moment like this.

*sigh*

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