ENTRY FOR THE CURVACEOUS AND BODACIOUS BOMBSHELL FIC CONTEST
Story Name: Bella Beautiful; a Life Drawing
Total word count: 3170
“Wherever you choose to begin today, follow your eyes, follow the roundness of her cheeks and beyond.” Sexy sweet and encompassing, Edward can’t wait to make a piece of her come to life. Greys and blacks, marking paper with beauty.
Edward arrives at his Art Psychology class, not at all ready for the creamy skin and brown eyes sitting before him. He must draw her, study her. But all he can think about is having her right there in the Art Studio, in the bathroom, stockroom, anywhere. But he must, and until he does, he can’t complete his work.
He walks the line of the outer circle. For four weeks he’s known about the life drawing his class must do. Four weeks and never once did he think about how incredible it might be.
Creamy white skin. She looks so soft.
He licks his lips and continues to peruse, to admire.
Each time he passes the front of her, she follows him with her eyes. She doesn’t move, but she knows he’s still looking.
“Edward, please take to your easel and stop being such a child.”
The whispers of giggling and laughter echo around the art room.
Art Psychology; Westfield University. This semester they’re attempting life drawing and studying the effects it has on the artist and the subject.
The subject in this case being a beautiful brunette woman; body full and supple. She’s cute and sexy all at the same time. He’s amazed, mesmerised and still can’t believe he didn’t think of it.
He lines his grey pencils and moves his easel a little more to the left.
He sees her between another easel and the arm of the person overlapping his view. A secret seeing. He feels as though it is.
All these eyes and senses attuned to her. She must feel it, must feel the colours and the wonder.
She sits so…comfortable, but when he wandered about the room, around and around her, she saw. She watches too and takes her bottom lip into her mouth, holding it there with her teeth. She likes it; being looked at, being studied. She wants more of him seeing her.
First days and she wears blue material draped over her middle and between her legs. Her arms tucked in at her sides, accentuating her breasts.
“Wherever you choose to begin today, follow your eyes, follow the roundness of her cheeks and beyond.”
Edward doesn’t look at the art teacher as she now walks the outer circle watching. Watching for lines of greys and black, catching who is really seeing what’s in front of them.
He makes no lines. He makes no curves. He sits, pencil in hand, imagining. It’s just her and him, at his place in his own studio. She sits on his bed, not the dumpy boxes laid out for her here, covered in something pretty as a disguise.
She smiles seductively at him as he sets up,and she waits for him to make a piece of her come to life.
Is that why she’s here? Is she waiting to live? Waiting to feel what he knows he could feel if he were to use her, touch her, have her body against his in the most delicious of ways.
He sees Rosalie, the blonde haired feisty girl from the laundry room in his dorm building, and she’s also just watching. Watching him, watching the woman…the model…the brown eyed goddess.
On the professors cue, the woman in the centre of the room changes pose. She changes posture and angles, and she is now facing him completely. One leg bent, the blue wrap falls between her legs still but uncovers her stomach.
Rounded edges of a woman he longs to hear whispering words in his ear as he holds onto her. His face in her neck, kissing his way down her chest, her breasts. Her nipples hard and as his eyes pass over them, he feels it and places one foot on the piece of wood at the bottom of the easel. Adjusting himself, going unnoticed. He’s aroused by her and by his thoughts of being with her physically.
Long lashes surrounding brown eyes, the darkest feature about her. Her lips are plump and stained with a rouge. Her cheeks hold a blush so subtle, barely there and so encompassing.
He roams her, still having not drawn a single limb, not one finger or strand of hair.
As his mind goes there, he sees himself fisting her hair as he holds her to him, hard kisses, open mouths and tongue. She makes the sweetest noises of pleasure.
Impossibly hard, for his visions of taking her naked right here in the middle of the art room has him completely thrown. He lifts a hand to begin and cannot. He can’t do it. His hands are shaking. He’s in lust and his head is filled with a want.
He excuses himself and makes leave for the bathroom.
The sound of his feet against the hard floors and his breathing echoing through his body are too much as he speeds to his destination. Swinging open the door of the last stall, he locks it and unbuttons his jeans, pushing down his underwear. He takes his hard cock in his hands and begins to pump his desires through and through.
Her. He sees her face, her body. In here, he’s dragged her in here with him. Wrapped in blue, he pulls it loose and drapes it over the door. He pulls her by the waist, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her body. Wet kisses down to her chest, he sucks a nipple into his mouth and she whimpers. He sucks harder, taking her between his teeth and she cries out.
He leans against the side of the stall, his head pressed to his arm covering his face as he fucks himself to visions of her. Round and beautiful. All woman for him to have a piece of, a piece he does want.
He bites down on the skin of his arm, stifling his moans.
His ravaging need flows through him—severe as he continues his rough touches of himself.
He imagines her holding his shoulders to steady herself as he moves down her body to her middle, kissing soft kisses along her tummy. She’s so beautiful,and he almost feels bad for thinking of having her in the dirty bathroom.
As he reaches the apex of her legs and begins to part them for more sight, he feels the surge and can’t hold it any longer. Pumping hard and fast, small sudden movements as he pulls his foreskin back and up again, meeting the head of his dripping cock. He stills and pulses as it flows and spills over his hand and against the stall of the bathroom.
Two days pass with dreams and thoughts of her, and he wonders if his dirty mind would even recognise her out in public—clothed.
He smiles to himself.Of course he would.
He has Art Psychology again today and this time he hopes to begin to put his vision of this beauty onto paper. Having tried several times since that first day, all he came up with were rudimentary circles and phallic looking silhouettes.
He makes his way to class twenty minutes earlier than normal, hoping to get a glimpse of her dressed, undressing and getting ready to be seen.
Standing in the bathroom, the same bathroom he shamelessly made nice with himself to images of her, he looks in the mirror.
Get it together, Cullen.
She’s just another fucking woman; any woman.
You don’t know her.
But I want to…know her body and what makes her tick.
Splashing water on his face, he runs his hands through his hair and back,causing it to look stupendously sexy wet. He dries his face with a paper towel and leaves.
When he arrives, she’s already waiting. One foot in front of the other, quiet as a mouse, he steps into the studio. The side of her face is lit lovely by the sun coming in through the high plane windows.
She has her eyes closed and every few seconds she blows air through her pink lips.
She’s nervous, anxious maybe.
And he suddenly sees her differently; not just the body but her face, down to her hands as she grips the edge of where she’s seated.
After a few minutes of just standing there, she suddenly throws the blue material away and opens her eyes.
He gasps, audibly so. She meets his face immediately but doesn’t shy away. She lifts her leg and leans back on her elbows, watching each part of her move into place and as she goes back, her hair falls from her shoulders and down her back.
The room is empty save for the two of them.
Watching each other, challenging each other.
She’d bet everything she has that she won’t break first.
With fumbling feet, no longer the confident Edward Cullen he is known as, he sits— even closer.
And doesn’t take his eyes away, not once.
As she lies back and waits for the class to fill for a third time, she sees him in her periphery and feels the blush creep in immediately. A room full of men and women all shapes, sizes and cultures and not one of them has the same effect on her that he does.
She lies completely bare, hot and shaken between her legs.
Catching sight of one man’s drawing, and she wonders about perception. How by some she’s seen exactly how she is, but not always. Less curves, longer hair. Lighter eyes and taller. Sometimes they take away all of her hair between her legs.
Different to everyone.
And to hershe feels so empowered, lying there knowing they’re all concentrating on her, no matter the final image they come up with.
And he, the man with the green eyes who sits closer to her with every class, sees her and licks his lips. And she is left knowing he sees her exactly how she really is.
He looks at his silhouette, her mouth. He can’t add more. He can’t draw whisks to make a face because he feels…incomplete, not even knowing how she sounds. The lasting feeling he feels every time, even after he’s made it back to his dorm, is heavy. He can’t shake it and so it’s a cycle.
Every class he just sits and watches her move on cue every twenty minutes for an hour and half.
“Tomorrow’s class will be reflection. Our Bella here won’t be in, so you can all breathe and readjust yourselves.”
The professor meets the eyes of the model and they share something.
Bella. Her name sits on his tongue, and he knows he must speak with her today.
He can’t wait and the thought of not seeing her in here tomorrow when he walks in makes him…uneasy and fidgety.
Today she has her back to him. He tries to get Ben to switch seats with him and earns a middle finger for his attempts.
He finds withnot seeing her face, he can concentrate more and is pleased that he isn’t as shallow as he was beginning to think he was. It’s not her skin and how her thighs sit when she’s posing with one leg up. It’s her; the smile he’s seen when the professor makes a lame joke, her breathing and the way she always pulls at her bottom lip with her teeth when she switches positions.
A clean page brings him something new as he begins from the top of her, the tips of her dark wavy hair and the plumpness of her cheeks. He closes his eyes and sees a kiss; soft and languid as he traces his thumb along her face, feeling her blush.
Standing behind her, he pulls her hair over her shoulder to make ways for her neck. How sensitive she may be there as he darts out his tongue to taste her.
Lost in his new direction, the muffled sound of the professor calling time on the end of class is almost missed. The flurry of his peers leaving and the professor making talk with Bella are seated in front of him but not holding his mind.
As she leaves and Bella stands to dress, Edward stands too.
“Compelling. I long to tell you what I think of when I draw you.” His feet move forward as she turns to see him.
“You wouldn’t be the first.” He closes his eyes momentarily and smirks as he lets her words take force in the room surrounding him.
Sweets sounds they make.
“I don’t care to be.” First, last, he’ll take anything.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Pardon me?” he asks.
“Pleasuring yourself after being locked in here with me. Over and over again.”
She knows what she’s doing, and he’s only realising this now. She’s mocking him. He’s not the first and actually the thought is angering.
“I don’t want to just look or just touch,” he tells her, hoping she’ll really listen.
“Oh you don’t…lucky me.” She’s not rude. She states fact. All the while on the inside, she wishes he would just shut up and press himself against her.
“Excuse me?” She wraps the blue material around her body and steps toward him.
“I mean, to pose for me. How much?”
“You don’t want me to pose for you.”
“I don’t? No…okay I don’t. How else then?”
“What’s your name?”
“You have to take what you want, Edward.”
“Yes.” She stands before him, contemplating his moves as he thinks it over, as he readies himself.
He drops his pencil on the nearest stool and as it falls, it rolls off and onto the floor, travelling the room and stopping at the next easel.
The echoes meet his steps and coincide with touching parts of each other.
Ghosting his hands over her shoulders, along her arms he leans in and down, hoping, waiting for his slow moving to meet her divine.
She doesn’t wait and pulls his shirt and him into her and his lips meets hers. They’re warm. He is warm under her fingertips and against her chest. She drops her covering and he strokes the length of her arm and meets her waist.
It’s real. He’s making it real, and he’s all too aware of where they are.
He picks up the blue material and takes her hand.
“Come with me.”
He leads her to the back of the class and around the side to a small stock room.
Shelves of paint brushes and paint. Pots of pencils, different sizes and colours. The wooden counter in here is stained with marks of art. He pushes her against it and takes her mouth with his.
He moans into her. Into their kiss and fists her hair. His palm travelling her chest, he feels her as she rises and falls with her heavy breath into his mouth against his lips. As he parts for her to taste, instead she tips her head back. Teasing her nipples, he pulls, kneading her breasts and pulls. She feels so fucking good.
He lifts her and she pulls herself up on to the counter and spreads her legs for him.
They hold each other’s eyes for seconds, minutes as he runs his hands up her thighs and in between her legs.
“You’re so fucking sexy.”
She smiles shy but before she can revel in it, she feels him meet her pussy.
He feels her from here to there and pushes a finger inside of her. She holds on to him, scooting closer to the edge of the wooden top.
Two fingers, he begins to pump slowly and she moans into his chest before his fingers leave her again.
She lifts his shirt, scraping her nails along his stomach as she goes and pulls it over his head.
Kissing along his skin and down his chest, she nips him with her teeth. Pulling her face, each side with both hands, he kisses her lips hard and fast. She makes work of his buttons and pushes his pants down along with his underwear.
She momentarily pulls away to see him.
To look at his naked body the way he has been looking at her for weeks.
Long and hard.
Full and waiting.
He pushes her back and lifts her leg, wrapping it around his waist. He traces his fingers along her cheek, looking into her eyes before he holds his cock, guiding him into her.
Closing her eyes, she tips her head back and moans at the feel of him entering her.
He grins at her pleasure.
Pulling her so close, meeting his thrust, he groans and begins his need. She leans back on her palms and moves her hips to make for more.
His vocal pleasure is as sexy as his hands gripping her and pulling at her to get more…more of her. He wants more of her and speeds his pace to get what he’s been craving.
Pulling him by the back of his neck, she holds onto him as they fuck, meeting each thrust, each passing of his hard cock, in and out, around, pushing deeper as they near their must.
She feels between her legs and begins to rub circles pressed to her clit. He looks down, watching her. Watching himself move inside of her and how fucking amazing it is. He pulls her hand away roughly and replaces it with his own. Two fingers making fucking magic as he continues his friction, this sex, coming too. Her cries become louder as she reaches her points, she falls back on her palms once more and he begins to feel her tighten around him, catching breaths one after the other. She comes hard around him; a pulsing, quivering mess of beautiful.
She moves his fingers and pulls him by the shoulders, moving her hips ferociously. His mouth hangs open, the sounds of their fucking filling the room. She pulls at his bottom lip with her teeth as he slams into her, one afterthe other, relentlessly before stilling and coming inside of her. Throbbing inside of her. Feeling satisfied as the tension leaves both of them,and they cling to each other’s naked, sweaty bodies.
He watches her dress as he pulls his shirt on and gathers his things. She’s every bit the woman he has been fantasising about as she slips her shoes on and asks him to zip her up. She throws her coat over her arm and her bag over her shoulder and looks at him; waiting, wondering.
“Can I walk with you?” he asks her.
“I’d like that.”