“If you say so, wife.”
His tone was patronizing and irritation consumed the nervousness that lay beneath her skin and she glared up at him. He tilted his head to look down at her, the candlelight catching the green of his eyes, in a way that made it difficult for her not to notice how disarming his gaze was.
"Phoebe," he mumbled and a shiver ran down of the spine.
It was the first time he had called her by her name and the direct simplicity of it made her blink.
"You needn't hold yourself like that," he said, and his voice had changed; the dry amusement was still there, but beneath it there was something quieter. "I'm not going to devour you."
Perhaps he had meant it as a joke. However, her mind registered it as a comforting remark, and she let go of the breath she had been holding, tension seeping out from her body.
"I am not in the habit of being nervous," she admitted without understanding why.
"I surmised as much," he nodded. "You are in the habit of managing things. This is not a thing you can manage."
She had no reply to that, because it was accurate enough to sting a little.
He reached out, gently, and tucked a strand of hair back from her face – from the scarred side – with a touch so brief and light that it barely registered before it was gone.
"Come here," he prompted.
She stepped closer, and allowed him to hold her face the way he had after he proposed to her, tilting her head back. When his lips pressed against hers, she went still.
It was foreign, the warm sensation that was followed by a gradual spread of head both within and outside her body. He pulled her closer and held her in a firm but gentle grip that kept her pliant as his lips worked over hers.
She tried to match his actions and he hummed in approval, pressing even closer. Phoebe gasped as one of hands trailed down her back and his tongue slipped into her mouth, mingling with hers in a slippery tango. Her knees grew weak and she clung to his shirt in an effort to keep herself up, breathless and dizzy when he pulled back moments later.
“You are a quick leaner,” he complimented, voice gruff.
“I'm... glad to have pleased you, Your Grace.” She panted, her face aflame.
He dipped his head low to her ear, pressing his lips to the shell of it as he whispered,
“If you address me by my title again, I will be very cross with you.”
Something about his tone served as a warning she was all too eager to heed.
“E-Edward,” Phoebe mumbled.
“Good,” he smirked as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw, then at the juncture of her neck before he came back up and kissed her lips again.
This time, he was a little more insistent, the kisses lingering longer between the occasional nibble and tug of her lips between his teeth. His pace was slow and she found it easier to go along with it and kiss him back.
It was startling to realize that she was enjoying it, the feeling of his lips against hers, the soft mumbles of “breathe, Phoebe” that slipped into the air between them before he kissed her again, the way his hand caressed her frame.
Eventually, his hands tugged at the fabric of her nightgown and when she pulled back – shocked to find that her arms had wrapped around his neck unconsciously – he took the dress off. She barely had time to focus on her nakedness before she was swept up into his arms and carried over to the bed.
Edward lowered her onto her sheets gently, leaning back to take in her body slowly, a smile gracing his lips easily.
“You are so beautiful,” he sighed, claiming her lips once more.
When they broke apart, he told her softly, “Do not worry. It might feel different from your previous trysts, but I willensure that you are thoroughly ravished. I will not leave you unsatisfied.”
Phoebe blinked up at him, confused. “W-What do you mean?”
He chuckled, kissing and sucking at her neck, before making his way down, one of his hands sliding up from her waist to grope at her breast.
“You do not need to hide it. I have no reason to judge you for your past.”