I am stuffed under the covers. Toes frozen. Surrounded by fluff and white and pillow. He said the shivers were supposed to warm me up. Liar. Such a damn liar this guy. I have been shaking for the last twenty minutes. My face is on fire. I want to toss the covers away as much as I want more of them.
I think God is punishing my ass. My throat. I knew I should not have let Grace and Bree take those stickers from the bank. Even if they were free. They were meant for customers. To display on their cars. Like advertisements. They are too young to drive and shit. Bree, only by Edward's made-up rules. But still.
"I heard there was a sick, sick patient in this room."
I am not cold. Toes. What toes? Pain? Have none. My head nods, for my mouth is fucked. Fucked silent. Fuck. He did not. But he steps in and shit yes. Yes, he did. Has. God, you are truly awesome. I'm sorry I missed so many services. Oh, and those stolen stickers.
"Edward?" Damn voice. Catch up to this moment, please. Sexy. Sound sexy.
He sits down on the bed. "Yes, baby?"
"Who invented the stethoscope?"
His mouth scrunches up into that smirk I want to run my tongue on. If it weren't sick and gross.
"I'm not sure, Sweetheart, but I believe it happened in France." He turns my way, giving my eyes quite the show. "Is there a reason you ask?"
Cocky bastard. I love it when he plays. The things I have done to this man. Changes. One of my arms chances slipping out from under the blanket. I tug on the end of one of the only two things he is wearing. Stethoscope. Underwear. Where are the kids? Who cares. Stethoscope. Underwear. Cullen.
And he brought soup.
Yes, I taught him well.
Work voice. "If you showed up to work like this, you'd have a line out the door. You'd be like that dentist in that lame movie with the chick who has awesome abs."
He laughs. "Good Luck Chuck?"
My face scrunches. "I'm going to make believe you knew that only because of the dentist description and not because of the chick with the awesome abs."
He rolls his eyes. "I would never bring Awesome Abs Chick soup when she is sick." He balances the cup of soup in one hand, giving it a stir with his free one. "My wife however, yes."
And right on cue, like it would never, ever happen in the movies, I sneeze.
All over him.
His eyes close, scrunching from the surprise. And I want to die on site. One eye peeks open and because Edward is Edward, he actually laughs.
"Sorry." Does that really cover it though? I just snotted on him. Sitting in our bed. Wearing a sex-stethoscope. Looking like God's creation and concept of perfect.
He sets the soup to the night-stand and plucks a tissue from the box. Like he would do to our kids, holds it to my nose. I shrink down. I am not going to…not while he is in the sex-stethoscope.
"Just blow, Bella."
I shrink down further, almost under the covers. "If only," I whisper.
He laughs like I am the funniest thing. Not some gross, germ-infested monster. I refuse to blow into that tissue. I don't care. I'd like to fuck him at a later date. He settles for wiping around my nose and of course, the mess I created on him. My soup-cup is back in his palm.
He holds the spoon to my mouth. "Open, Baby."
"You aren't doing it right."
He pops an eyebrow in question. "No?"
I shake my head. "Up on the legs, Edward. Make it good." I pat my thighs under the covers and he is amused at my request. Only…Cullen has become a genius in the last thirty seconds, because he climbs under the fluff and settles his sex-thighs on the outside of my sick-thighs and re-covers us with the blanket. It's like an Edward-sex-heater.
"Now I understand the nick-name," I mumble to myself.
He draws the spoon away. "What nickname?"
Crap. "You don't know?"
His face answers. Crap. I sigh. "What the ladies in the grocery store call you?" Nope. Clueless as ever. "Mr. Amazing-Pants?"
He snorts and I wish I had a camera to capture the shy shit happening to his face. If my body hadn't been warmed by the hot-doctor routine, it would be now. The truth is, he could be fully clothed and he'd still be fucking amazing. This is just a bonus. Like getting an onion ring in your order of fries.
He stirs the soup, keeping his eyes there. "And…how might you know this, Love?"
"Because I heard them one day. Waiting in line for lunch meat, funny enough." I pat my hand to his bare stomach. He rolls his eyes.
"Anyhow, they were talking about their kids and then that led to one of them having a cold and then that led to you and then that led to how you are amazingly nice and amazingly hot and amazingly caring and how they spotted you out one day with the girls and what an amazing father and husband you must be and…"
I sigh in a dramatic form, like they did. Hand over my forehead. But that part is a little lie. Whatever. Cullen needs shit spelled out for him.
"If they only had a 'Mr. Amazing-Pants' to call their own."
My soup must be super-stirred by this point. And I thought my face was hot. I play my hands on his stomach, until he looks at me and goes back to the feeding. When the cup is empty, he sets it aside.
Hands go gently to my face, checking, making sure. His eyes don't like what he feels. He says a sweet apology from his lips, leaning down to kiss my forehead.
And when he does it, my eyes can't close like normal. The weight he is putting on his arms, shows me his strength. It flashes memories. It makes me think of us. Like this. Him over me. Bare body. Weight on arms.
I loll my head to the side and tug on the stethoscope, bringing his face down into my neck. He gives sloppy, wonderful kisses there. My hands slide over his hips, feeling along his back and sides. The cool metal of the stethoscope presses against my belly. Goose-bumps don't all belong to it. It's not the only thing pressing against my belly.
I press my face to the side of his head. "This is way better than Patch Adams."
And I know his smile is against my skin. "I should let you rest." But he said should and keeps going.
My hands slip under the waistband of his underwear. I grope and I tug them down enough to grope some more, flexing my fingers and kneading at his skin. His arms scoop under me, arching me up into a position that allows his mouth to do wonderful shit to my tits. I lay lazily in his hands and revel in the first thing that has felt good in days.
"This shit," I whisper.
He mouth keeps going. "Mmm?"
"If you did this shit…you'd have a line. Like that dentist."
He talks to my nipples. "Think so?" Sucking harder.
I tuck my lips between my teeth. "Mmhmm."
His eyes glance up. I know these eyes. These teasing, playful eyes. I squirm under him. "You don't sound very coherent, Mrs. Cullen." He rests on one palm, using his free hand to place the stethoscope on my chest.
He says it seriously. "I see why. Your heart rate is much too high. I think you need to rest."
Um. No. He goes to move and I trap him with my legs. "Edward. You don't even have earpieces in."
He laughs and settled back over me. "This is why I could never offer this service like your movie dentist. Too many cases of negligence. We'd be broke and out of business in no time."
I tighten my legs and slide my hands to his front, over bulge of his underwear. "What's wrong? Too much blood loss to the brain, Dr. Cullen?"
His mouth opens to reply, but is cut-off by the sound a baby crying. I groan. He sighs. "I suppose we should be used to this by now." A kiss to my forehead.
My face sours. "Cock-blocking kids, you mean?"
He smiles. "Yup." And he leans away, climbing off from what could have been his best prescription yet. "You really should be resting, anyhow." Fingers on my face and I pout.
A soft tap on door. Grace on the other side and he calls out. "I'll be right there, Sweetheart." A soft blow of air leaves his mouth. He turns back to me. "I'll come check on you in a bit. Sleep."
Sigh. "Yes, doctor."
A kiss to my face. I hold him there before he can go. I kiss his cheek. "That one is for the soup and skin-show." I kiss again. "That one is for the girls….even though they are cock-blockers."
And I love his smile. How he tucks the covers under my chin. Soft touches to my face until my eyes close. The last peek I steal before I see him leave our room, dressed in jeans and appropriate daddy-attire. The giggles I hear from whatever he is doing while filling in for me and my sick, snot-ridden self. The piano and the faces I see under my lids, knowing without even watching what they all look like down there.
And the adoring faces and praise of strangers.
If they only knew the half.
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