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The Scent
By : LadyNarayamaan
Category: Twilight Series > Het
Views: 5059 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story.
Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
AN – I just finished writing this, so pardon for my lack of proper answers. You will get what I mean in the end of this chapter.

boban tractions Welcome. Lol! Yes, I am sorry for the cliffy ;P He is isn’t he? GRAWR, I love Jacob when he gets like this. I do. About Jay, he will come back in further chapters, but I can’t tell more, I would ruin the progression of the story. *evil laugh* Thank you so much for your compliments. It makes me happy beyond belief, since I strive to write erotica versus smut. I hate to call “things” by their names. Hehe. Hope you will stay with me!

Gaps of Misery I admit girl, I laughed hard with your review! Thank you so much for being with me still *_* Jump in joy all you want, I am jumping all around still. *coughs* About the hating me part, hey, practice is a girl’s best friend. :)
I SO relate to it when you say you know everything about your characters! And also with the face making when writing LOOOL. Also, please do take pics if you ever try to write “LOR” fics.

On another note, I don’t feel less happy to know you are not a native speaker. If much, I am content, because normally non natives tend to be a lot pickier than natives. So to have grabbed your interest and earned your positive remarks makes me proud just the same. ZOMG I am gonna have a new religion *love* =D

By the way *whispers* I am not hu… *cough* either… huh…

*massive derail* Oh Jake is a bad puppy. BAD!

I do like Edward a lot, even if I am a Jacob Team shipper. Maybe one day I will take him up in my imaginative derails and do “bad” stuff to him. *growls*

Ultra Thanks again for reviewing, it’s good to know you are still here! Yush, Jake is too damned fun to work it, so expect more chapters with him as narrator soon! And enjoy this chapter as well!

Now: On with the smut! Huh… I mean fic! Yeahhh.. >.>

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J/POV
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I know it’s warm even if changes of temperatures rarely affect me.
She is warm.
Down, under me, and my neck brings my face to the dark blonde strands of her hair, as I inhale the rich scent that she offers me.

I can feel her heart pummelling inside her chest, her hands both clawed over my shoulders, as one of my hands, since the other arm is keeping my torso from crushing her under my weight, slides to her side, looking for skin.

The skin so soft that I had been against just now. Incomprehensible barriers of clothing. A problem, with a quick resolution as my quest to feel her skin is what commands me.
My hand snakes between what my mind quickly identifies as being a jacket, shirts – where had all this clothing come from?- and find finally the skin I had been longing for again.
My teeth cringe and I growl, feeling the body under me tense.

Problem. Fix it.

My mind is as simple as that, and the jacket now was a damned problem; it’s too tight against her. My hand tries to slither up to cup her breast and see if the peeble can turn as hard as I remember it turning, the remembrance of it making my body answer in an all but chaste way, but it doesn’t progress as swiftly as I want.

She wheezes my name in a husky plead, but I disregard it. What is she complaining about? Just now she had been… My body stops its motion.

Did she just throw a punch on the side of my ribs?

At least I think it was, even if I barely felt the real intentional pain she had when she threw it.

My face comes up from the wild mane that I had emerged my nose in.

And I answer her motion with a low deep guttural growl, born deep within my chest, anything but natural but seemingly normal to my ears at this moment. Is she trying to fight me off? Ah, hilarious.

Her smell shifted, making me want to keep her in place more efficiently, even if she wasn’t even moving.

She does a split of a second later, and with something that I can call instinctual clairvoyance, my hands snap to her hands and pin them down over her head. Now where did she think she was going?

I look at her from the corner of my eye, and see her green eyes looking scared… but at the same time pissed.

“What the fuck…?” She hisses.

The light becomes fiercer, challenging me. AH! Challenging me? This delicious body is challenging me?

I let her smell again involve me, my eyebrows creasing even if I didn’t know it. Again it shifted. Sweeter. My hips move over hers, her legs pushed apart further by them, and it intensifies, making a purr escape me.

“You…” I let my eyes open again to look at her from the corner of my eyes, shielded somewhat by a black curtain of hair. “… want me.” I lowered my head a bit for my lips to be closer to her ear. “I can smell it.”

I feel her shiver under me, ripping a smirk from my lips.

“I can almost taste it.” I continue, in a voice that is mine but isn’t. “It’s… impregnated in every pore.” My nose passes over her cheekbone, as I aspire it through my parted lips, the lingering taste against my tongue making me again move my swollen member against her.

Damn clothes. Skin skin, skin my mind chants endlessly.

“I…”

She tries to say something, one of her legs coming to wrap against my side, even if her hands are trying to break free from my grasp. No.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Anger rises in me. “I need you.”

I knew I did. I needed it, her, be in her. That is all that matters.

“I need to be in you. I want to be in you. You can scratch me and curse and hit me, but still I need you. Now.”

Her heart was beating so fast I could feel it against my own chest. Why did I need her? Why? Doesn’t matter. I just do. Take what you want. Like air. Not being able to feel her skin against mine was agonizing.

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L/POV
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Oh my God. I… Him… What?

What happened?

He seemed so distressed in sleep, I was so worried and now… He is so… intense. What? How? Damn it.

His eyes. I remember this look.

His hands on my wrists are steel strong. I can’t move. My body betrays me.

His breathing is deep, and the rough growls that punctuate them almost seems like he is speaking to me without words.

I feel my whole body respond to his roughness, to this… language. I feel my walls clamping shamelessly, even if my mind screams that this is wrong. I try to calm down, to speak evenly or even to speak at all. My throat is closed. My body doesn’t move. It doesn’t obey.

My skin rebels against the clothing that covers me. My hands want to free themselves to delve in his air. I want to. And… this is too scary.

“Jake, get the fuck off me.” I manage the words pass my lips. Sharp edged, ripping my throat as they are spoken. Almost as if my throat rejects them, a product of my mind against the desire of my body.

He looks at me, confused, then angered. My body arches under him, contradicting my words. What am I doing? My nipples ache against the lace of my brassiere. Every instinct in me says it wants him. Every nerve ending in my body calls for him, for his mouth and hands.

Spellbound. Just like in the train.

He almost as if moans huskily against my ear again, and I feel my eyes rolling back as even the sound of his voice is as a caress in itself.

Suddenly I lost myself. I can hear my logical mind sliding to a deep corner of my mind, barely an echo. And the longing settles in, in a way that knocks the breath right out of my lungs.

My eyes search his.

“You.”

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It’s the same feeling one has when encountering a long lost lover. All the flashes of past dreams and the intimate embrace of sexes flood minds until the quest of reaching them again, feeling again tongues, and bodies is stronger then even the corporal flesh itself.

Now. All. Here.

Eyes speak in a language lost when humans developed vocalized conversation.
Her hands again try to move from his grasp. But this time, he lets her go.

Her eyes are bright but darkened with lust. Her lips part, as do her legs, the back of her heels against the mattress pushing him up, or at least trying to, teasing his erection nested between her legs, with a wide circular motion of her hips.

It was like being under the influence of drugs. The musk and woods scent from him is intoxicating. She growls low in her throat as her hands come to his back in a scratch fully intent to leave marks. The soft reddened marks disappear slowly, as even his body forgets to heal itself.

His back arches at the move, one of his hands sliding to grab her neck, almost cutting out her air supply. Dreams and reality intertwined again. Feel, just feel.

Her hands open against his shoulder blades, roaming down in more pressure than needed, to feel the muscles that contract as he moves in grinds against her. Every little crevice, every bump of skin and developed muscle is only hers, in this moment, to feel now.
The taste he carries is for her tongue only.

She curses at her clothing, wishing it gone, wanting it ripped out of her if that is what it takes for her to feel skin against hers. Trapped, and oh! does she beg for freedom.
Curiously, the soft imprisonment of her throat under his hand is not wished gone: if much… She wants it tighter…!

She pushes her head upwards towards him, soft growl, low and intense, making the fire that runs still all through him to let her come up. Ambivalences are a rule.

Bite and lick. Hurt and qualm. Scratch and caress.

Attack and surrender.

She wants him to push her down, and if her conscious awareness let her, she would be ashamed, but it is crushed. Her hands in claws come up his back, making his torso stretch over the feeling. Tiny pricks of pain he allows in an insane will to feel it all. One of his arms still keeps his torso up, even if she clings to him, her hand finding poise over his shoulders.

And as she is about to move her face closer to his for a kiss or a lick, his hand on her neck travels down for fingers to hook on the top of her jacket, and in a clean motion he pushes his hand down.

The plopping of copper buttons is heard but disregarded.

And her walls spasm as strongly as if he just told her he wanted to plunge inside them, in mad anticipation at the gesture.

“Rip it off me, damn you. All of it.”

It is a thought, a message, a plead, a command.

Her teeth are bared, his jaw is clenched, as his only free hand slides to a greedy hold of her breast.

Her head rolls to the side and falls back as her neck muscles decide to give up on her for the moment. Glorious arch of neck, breaths scarce due to her position, and his mouth takes the silent invitation, setting on the little hollow between her collarbones, tongue sliding right after, passing over the bumpy flesh that vibrates with something that could pass as a purr, hollow between neck and chin and ending in a scrape of his upper teeth on her chin.

Her nipples rebel against the painful lace that still clad them, her own hand coming to his over her right breast, pushing it up to the top of her shirts, urging him to find the flesh that calls for him to free it.

Her other hand fumbles to find leverage to keep her position hovering over the mattress, fingertips encountering onyx locks and almost jumping to grab enough length to pull forcefully at the hair at his nape. Which she does.
Pain.
The force of the feeling double on his hand that finally rips the barriers that keep torsos from touching totally. She gasps in a sucked in breath, and all the pain from the rough breaking of the fabric by his hands, all sounds dim in the presence of what graces her ears next.

The… hoarse…

“Hahhh…ahh…”

…Husky…

“Hughnn…”

…Lascivious grunt that erupts from him makes her internal organs loose sight of their place.
Her breath is nothing, the newly acquired freedom of her bosoms is nothing, as she regards his face, the crease of his eyebrows, the arching of his neck as he tries to alleviate pressure.
Her hand, that was over his before, hovers close to his face.
The moistness of his skin.
Fingers touch the side of his face.
The line of his jaw line.
Sliding down, tips of fingers only, almost as if afraid to break this moment.
The tensing of his neck muscles.
Beautiful. So intensely beautiful and disturbing.
The pure smell of lust that envelopes them. The ending of the vocalization in a painful yet delirious and completely obscene whine that makes her teeth cringe and her womanly fluids to trespass the border of her swollen, enclosed by silk, lips.

It’s too much but never enough.

In him.

Her arm slides as her abdominals crunch to keep her up the sufficient amount of time that takes her to curl it about his neck, crook of elbow against the side of his neck, as the other side is free for her mouth; that clashes against the copper skin in a open mouthed encounter of tender flesh against teeth, her other hand’s fingers delving in his hair.

He screams gruffly, and his arm shudders violently and collapses, as she sinks the blunt teeth further enough to be felt but not strong enough (how could she) to break skin. His whole weight is all over her: but even so her legs curls about him and hook at her ankles to keep him in place, as she growls against him, her teeth receding from the caramel skin for tongue to nurse the abused spot in healing licks, only to again give little testing bites,

He feels himself rebel against the fabric of his boxers, against the jeans that clad her. Swollen, pulsing and eager.
There is no voice but the instinctual guttural growls. From both.
Her hand fists again in his hair, pulling him back, and he for now, still drunk on her motions, tries to prop his torso up from her, his neck going back, to give space for a greedy lick with full tongue that comes from the side of his neck to the back of his ear.

The moistness that grants some relief as his skin sings in joy of her caresses. The colder, for seconds, patch of skin that alleviates the maddening warmth that is always his, but now he can feel it.

It is strange how one can be so tortured and yet wishes for the torture to continue. He wants to feel those nails that rake over his flesh, and even her teeth against him, even if the gesture would probably annoy him in any other circumstance as a pet peeve.

Her teeth grab the softer flesh of his lobe and suck it slowly, with again little bites.

The feeling of a hardened nipple against his chest for a second as her body seems charged, and does not cease moving, his mind trying but failing to track all the touches.
His hands helped by hers get rid of the upper torn garments, freeing her skin.
The force of her legs around him, and he wants it to be skin and not stiff jeans.

So one of his hands slide to her back, his arm diagonally against her back, pushing her up to him, chests colliding and making a quiet hiss escape both sets of lips: hers still against his ear, making him almost forget what was his intention in the first place, but at the same time charging his muscles with enough force to change positions in a swift fluid move.
His other hand impulses down on the mattress and taking advantage of the ricochet his torso comes up and his legs are able to slide for him to kneel on the bed. Her legs are still around his waist so she now straddles his lap, both her arms wrapping, or trying to, around the broad shoulders, her nails clawed on his skin akin to a cat’s grip when it thinks there is a risk to fall.

The sheets are already scrambled around the front of his knees, his hand coming to her backside in a greedy hold as he gets closer to the headboard until his knees hit it.
All the while, eyes do not deter from each other. There are no questions. Only them.

Both his hands slide to set on her waist, fingers spread on her back, as thumbs caress hipbones that poke over denim.

He wants to taste her. It is strange but he wants to taste that scent that is hers and that fills his nostrils so overwhelmingly that even the call of his raging erection has nothing against it.

His eyes slide over her front, over the damage of her clothes, the soft separation of her breasts, and his hands force, with thumbs, her body to falls backwards, until her shoulder blades hit the padded headboard of the bed. More of her is presented to his until dark black catch his own copper coloured hands over her much lighter skin. The soft definition of her abdominal muscles, and her heaving again brings his eyes to her chest. Soft round mounts of flesh, with hardened and darker peeks that call for him to taste them. But not yet.

She stays silent even if she pants heavily, her hands going to the headboard to make her position easier for her back.

And his hands push her up, almost hurting her, for her chest to level to his face, mouth searching a nipple to take advantage off. Her head bumps against the wall, as she hisses in a baring of teeth, her hands struggling to keep her position, her feet against the mattress rising up on the soft surface pushing her up with the feeling.

His hot mouth doesn’t desist, relentless in lavishing licks and sucks over her breasts. And a deeper inhale, fast, brings her scent to him. Another scent more pronounced that makes him growl, and moan. Her arousal.

One of his hands slides to the crotch of her pants, feeling the moist warmth, and pushing her up, the feeling making her eyebrows crease in a look of pure pleasure. Her hips push down but he again pushes her up. Moan. Her legs flex for feet to find place closer to his knees, and straighten, her back sliding against the forest of wolves that covers the wall.

And he dives against her lower region, in an open mouthed bite over resistant fabric, in a blind search of what it encloses. His hands grab the sides of her hips , as her hands grab handfuls of his loose hair, sucking in breath.

Such an animalistic display of pure enrapture.

Such a strong response of her lips, as they wail in agony for the touch. He bites again and she whines wanting the clothes off. Her hands come to the button, that she fumbles against, but one of his hands grabs them, pushing them against her abdomen, as again his mouth closes in on her, teeth scraping the bone above her entrance.

She growls but his hand doesn’t budge as he aspires the scent and his eyebrows crease, and her chest tightens.

She wheezes out an improper word as his other hand slides to pop the button out of place, sliding the zipper and her hips wiggle almost as if the fabric could be shaken away from her. Same hand slides the side on the top of her jeans, his mouth receding, as he watches the fabric, both jeans and underwear, sliding down under his coaxing hand. His other hand leaves hers and pushes the rest down, sliding to the back to pull at the fabric, and she is finally revealed to him.

The simple act of him looking at her making her reach new levels of arousal that she never thought possible.

The cramps on her lower region are… insane.

He continues watching her, and the shame she would feel is nowhere to be found, as his hands still push the fabric down, caressing the newly discovered skin as he goes. He shifts back, her legs bare, his hands one by one coaxing her feet to rise for fabric to be discarded.

She stands before him, in all naked glory, and his chest fill with breaths that bring the scent of her swollen petals so hard it hazes his mind with want.

And before she even realises it, his hand slides to the inside of her thigh, to the back of it where it meets buttocks, his elbow nudging the inside of her leg, that snaps to his shoulder, making her hips collide against his face and his lips to meet hers.

The loud swear word echoes on the studio, as her muscles contract all at once, knocking breath from her.

She tries to get air on her lungs but she fails, her hands grabbing to the head board again, as her brain shuts down all but sensorial centre.

Hot.

His mouth on her. His tongue that laps eagerly against her, pushing between lips. Her abdomen crunches, hips move to him. Tongue swirls once, twice, fast, then slow. Moans that reverberate on each nerve ending of her skin. Her eyes roll inside her eyelids, her leg tightens, and he scrapes teeth over soft swollen folds, again tongue sliding in a full tongue lick that almost makes her head implode.

“Oh… fuck!”

Hips are possessed, as his tongue seems to be: shifting to slide at the crevice between her sex and her leg, to pass over her to the other side and again going to her, finding the pleasure nub that makes her savagely grind against his mouth.
And the newly discovered sensation does not go unnoticed by him. He assails it fiercely, hands keeping her in place as she knows not of the word, meaning, or concept of shame. She wants it, it is so close. She can feel her legs tense, tense, her abdomen clench, her body in mad anticipation for what comes to her by the means of his impossibly tireless tongue.

And almost as she is about to reach her peak, his shoulder shakes her leg, and his hands rotate her hips for her to give him her back.

She whines, almost stumbles as she does what he commands with hands, her forehead bumping against the wall.

”Please..

His hands slide to her waist, his breath rough as even for him it has become difficult to resist the calling of her for him. But… not yet.

He pushes her hips down, and she falls to her knees at the same time he moves over the bed to give her space.

Her hands find the headboard, as she whines her exhales, looking at him over her shoulder.

His hands, still over her waist pull her back, thumbs pressing for her to arch her back, as he continues to move back.
She follows blindly, her arms stretching as she gets further away from it.

He moves behind her. And then he comes closer, knees between hers from behind, thighs against the back of hers, as his hands slide to the mattress, on all fours over her similar position.

She can feel his breath on the nape of her neck, rough, making her whole body break in goose bumps. Her hands are fiercely grabbing the headboard, and her head is down dangling between her spread arms. Eyes closed. The warmth is all around, barely touching the skin of her back. His arm loops around her waist, pushing her up against him, and the anticipation was beyond the feeling: it made her knees set closer on the mattress, her body arch as her hips rise in an offering, in a pursuit of…

“Hahhhh!” And hiss sucked in between lower lip bitten by her upper teeth.

Him.

He is as naked as she is.

Her eyes open, in half mast and get the visual that again would have shamed her and made her look away in any other situation. But now, emeralds drink it in like water in the desert.
The moist that coats the inner skin of her thighs, and the column of flesh that slides against her, as lips lick with an inexistent tongue his whole length.
He moans, so deeply she can feel the long filled call of her insides for it.
Not his tongue, but him, finally.

He sways backward, and to her again, so, damn, slow.

Again.

“Please.” Her eyebrows crease, as her hips slowly sway backwards, but he growls, his nose against her nape, his front teeth scraping the small bump of the beginning of her column. She doesn’t want to fight anymore. She just wants him.

He retreats, his arm sliding from her waist, hand caressing her side, stomach, side of hip, over the side of her thigh and suddenly there is no more touch. She whines in protest but it is cut as she feels his tip against her. She shudders. His hand makes the hard length’s tip to slide on her inviting lips. She still shudders. Her chest heaves as fast and roughly as his does, making the touch of her back and his chest to be more pressing. And he exerts pressure, his hand coming to a snap to her own hand on the headboard and the other mimicking its sibling.

She doesn’t dare move.

Only the shudders she can’t control.

And he slides in, parting her lips as a tongue would shyly ask for entrance on unknown lips.
Controlled and slow and breaths cease.
She can feel the transition between head and column as her labia embraces the head in her, maniac clamps of her insides calling for the rest of him.
As a naked woman would beacon her loved husband after a long absence.
His fingers lace with hers the best they can over the headboard, the side of his face against the side of her head, lips close to the shell of her ear.

She is still shaking.

“Shhh.” Low and husky.

And he slides further, slow, so slow and both throats seem closed now. Feeling every little extension of her skin.

She feeling him stretch her walls to accommodate him. And for as much as she wishes to push back against him, she doesn’t. Her neck comes back for her nape to nest on his shoulder, sides of faces brushing between dark gold and deep raven black tresses.

And he meets her. Throats coming to life, as hips do.

Moan and grind. She back, and he to her. Her hips circle, as the clench on her chest disappears. Completion.

He slides back.

Sweat making bodies slide in their touch.

She comes back and meets him in mid thrust.

Swear words that again slide between the articulations of the long lost language of lust. No words, but all the words that matter.

The friction making at each thrust the feeling pool on his lower abdomen.

A little bit faster.

One of his hands leave hers to again arm slide around her waist.

Fiercer.

His nose burries on her hair, inhaling her scent. Her glorious scent.

Louder.

She growls moans, as her hand also comes back to grab onto him, scratching skin and pulling closer.

More.

Circular sways of hips, to increase touch inside. More touch, all touch, all of her.
She arches her back until muscles complain but she does not care. More touch, all touch, all of him.
Unnatural curve of back as the only thing her mind repeatedly chants to her is…

Deeper.

His sounds are getting louder, as hers. Hips are moving faster, as hers.
His hand slides from her waist to set, forearm vertically against her middle, hand grabbing her neck and closing in on the flesh, making her hips jerk once and her own pace to pick up.

“Jacob…”

His eyebrows crease, as he can not take this anymore. His hips run loose, her hand snaps from its place on his body to grab his hair, pull and come to his hand on her neck in mock scratches as she can barely breathe but doesn’t panic. Her brain is swimming in oil, as her muscles start getting colder albeit the heat, her hand again on his hair, her hand on the headboard making white knuckle force on it.
Breaths are never quite satisfying, filling lungs scarcely, as eyes loose focus behind eyelids.

And the wave slides from both, like a wet tongue grabbing the back of their skulls as bodies shake in full completion of that ritual, the most ancient of ancient dances.

The sound of their entwined pleasure is a hymn to lust.

The soft withdrawals can barely be called that since he still refuses to leave her. Spasm motions, and she misses his lips.

Her back arches again unnaturally but beautifully if one was to watch her, as her hand slides to his nape and her neck stretches for lips to meet his in a open mouthed touch as tongues meet in an out of oral cavities. More lustful yet lazy licks over tongues and lips than a proper kiss, as he still moves in and out of her, his arm the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

His body still shakes randomly, so he eases himself on one side, falling sideways on the mattress, his arm pressing her against him, not leaving her. Not yet. Not when her walls still squeeze him so marvellously from time to time. Not when his own member responds to her walls with pulses, like random words of tenderness after such an act.

Her body spooned by his, his arms around her, as his mind seems to wander only in the same word hers also chants.

“Mine.”

AN – I need a shower.
Oh MAN I need a shower.

Sorry for the changes in POV’s, it’s mad I know, but I was seeing it in so many perspectives that I had trouble in conveying it all here. :P

Humm… perspectives…

Huh, well, reviews, faster updates, and all that… *lost gaze*

… DAMN (insert other considerations here for lack of lexicon)!

Lady Narayamaan.
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The Scent	By : LadyNarayamaan Category: Twilight Series > Het Views: 5059 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story.

The Scent