Inspired by Magenta

Medium: Lipstick on Skin

May 1940

~Carlisle

The note was crumpled, written hastily on the back of some loose leaf paper. It began:

Carlisle,

I have a request.

I had only to read the first sentence and know exactly what that request would be. Sure enough, the rest of the letter confirmed my suspicions.

As one of the most influential doctors in our hospital, it would mean a lot if you said a few words at the benefit next month. Considering how much Dr. Jamison adores you, I think I speak for all of my colleagues when I say it would only be prudent for you to share your experiences with the rest of the medical world and our benefactors.

Think about it, and let me know if this is something you are willing to do.

-Louis

I'd read the note several times since I'd received it a month ago. The only reason it was crumpled was because I'd taken it in and out of my pocket so often.

It was not the request itself which made me nervous, but rather the potential consequences such attention could afford me. If I went up on stage in front of so many names in New York, I would be asking for a life I couldn't commit to. There was a small chance that I would be noticed for the wrong reason - or the right reason - and both of those reasons could cause just as much trouble.

I understood why they had asked me to speak at the benefit. Not only did I have decent speaking skills, but I had more than decent surgical skills as well. They assumed they were doing me a favor by giving me a moment in the spotlight. Like all young doctors, they thought, I wished to move forward in my career. What better way for me to get a head start than to share my medical expertise on stage in front of some of the top surgeons in the state?

I sighed. Any other doctor would have been flattered and excited for the opportunity. It was true, in my heart, that I was exceedingly flattered and excited to speak to an audience about my passion. But for many other important reasons I also dreaded doing it.

"You have been so quiet," Esme's voice interrupted my thoughts.

I breathed deeply and smiled at my wife; but fitting to her accusation, I was unable to think of anything to say. She chuckled and walked up to me, her long white robe rippling around her ankles.

"I know you're nervous," she whispered before placing a chaste kiss on my chin. "But you don't need to be. Not at all."

I rested my head over hers, my chin cushioned by the sponge curlers in her hair as we embraced.

She backed away before I was ready to let her go. The look in her eyes was encouraging, and I took comfort in knowing that at least my wife believed in me. Still, I couldn't bring myself to loosen my grip on her just yet.

She gave me a mocking smile as she gently wrestled her way out of my arms. "I have to go get ready." She sauntered to the bathroom door and looked over her shoulder at me with a perfectly sweet glare, "And so do you."

As she softly closed the door behind her, I stared self-consciously down at my informal attire. The suit Esme had picked out for me still hung in the back of our closet. I'd mostly avoided looking at the thing all week because it brought about all the dread of tonight. Now when I opened our closet and faced the expensive charcoal black suit, I felt so small I doubted it would even fit me.

Reluctantly, I forced myself to bring it out and hang it beside our bedroom mirror. I stood back and looked it over, deciding it looked rather nice without a man inside it. I was so used to the ease and looseness of a lab coat that I found suits to be a detestable confinement. I wondered how so many conformist businessmen managed to walk around in them for forty hours out of the week.

Almost tentatively, I stepped forward and rubbed the material of the sleeve between my fingers. It felt too stiff and new. Unworn. I didn't like it.

I tore my hand away and turned toward the window, eager to see some light before the sun set for the evening. The sky was still pleasantly bright, and the blossom-choked trees were cast in a veil of pink from the sinking sun. I braced my arms defiantly against the sides of the window and thrust them apart to let some air in. The window squeaked in pain as I pushed it further open, still rusty and stubborn from rare use.

As I inhaled the fresh evening air, I realized how much I'd missed being outside. Work had taken over much of my life lately, and as much as I enjoyed what I did for a living, I knew that my family felt the effects of my absence when I worked too hard. Especially Esme.

I ran a hand through my hair as I rested my back against the side of the window. My wife had accepted my choice to work full time in the local hospital with dignity and maturity. She rarely complained about my workload, even when I felt it was obvious that I was neglecting her. Even tonight, I was asking her to get dressed up and leave the house for me. She deserved more consideration, more attention from me.

The air in the bedroom behind me felt stuffy and confining. I leaned further out the window as if hoping the wind would sweep around me and lift me up to the skies. I didn't want to think about the benefit, or the people who would be listening to my speech tonight, or how much time I hadn't spent with Esme in the past few months.

I wanted to escape. I felt trapped.

"Carlisle."

My heart jumped at the sound of my wife's voice calling for me from inside. I turned my head quickly and found myself at yet another loss for words as I stared at the breathtaking beauty before me.

Esme rarely wore vibrant colors out, mostly because they attracted too much attention. But tonight she wore a formal silk cocktail dress in a bold watermelon pink. The dress emphasized every luscious, feminine curve she possessed, most notably in the way it dipped strategically between her breasts, offering a tempting peek of perfect cleavage. She had taken out those pesky sponge-curlers, and now her hair fell in full, glossy waves around her shoulders, shining the color of fox-hide in the lamplight.

"What do you think?" she asked with a shy smile as she turned slowly for me. While the front of her dress was magnificently scant enough, the back of her dress was ... nonexistent. The deep pink silk faithfully covered her shoulder blades, but it left between them a window of milky white skin that stretched all the way down to her waist.

I took a shaky breath and gave a pitiful reply. "I don't ... know."

A lovely flash of anger pierced her golden eyes, and her smile turned into an annoyed smirk. "Your expression would say otherwise," she said hotly, setting her hand on her hip.

Swallowing my nerves, I stood upright from my safe space in the window and cleared my throat. "You look...stunning, Esme."

She sighed and looked down, but I could see her trying to hide a forgiving smile.

"Too stunning," I murmured half to myself.

She glared up at me. "What does that mean?"

"You know what it means," I said quietly, looking at her with nothing but love. Her expression softened, but I noticed the twinkle in her eye.

"Oh, Carlisle, don't start getting jealous before we've even arrived at the party."

Like any man would, I valiantly defended myself against her accusation. "Jealousy has nothing to do with this. And it isn't a party, Esme."

"I know that," she said stubbornly.

I opened my mouth to retort, but thought the better of it. Instead, I spoke slowly and directly. "This is very important to me."

"I know that..." she repeated, more gently this time. "That's why I'm supporting you, isn't it?" Her eyelashes happened to flutter at exactly the right moment.

I moved helplessly over to her and gathered her into my arms, a forgiving smile in place. "Have I told you how much I appreciate you for that?"

I bent my head down and placed a few innocent kisses along her throat. She let her neck tilt back, allowing me more room to paint her skin with my tongue. "Hmmm... I might consider this thanks enough," she muttered happily in the midst of my impassioned exploration.

I started to slide my fingers down her back, and I immediately felt her shiver.

"Carlisle, please," she sighed, suddenly tense. "We can't, darling."

"I'm not..."

Before I could defend my innocence, she gave me a knowing stare.

It had the desired effect, and I looked down at my feet, slightly ashamed at my brashness. Fortunately, Esme was quick to forgive.

She tipped my chin up. "We have to get ready," she said, her voice softening as she tilted her head to the side and stared lovingly into my eyes. "Now kiss me before I put on my lipstick."

I grinned with boyish joy and obeyed her delightful command, determined to satisfy her before I even thought about backing away.

Apparently I'd gotten a bit carried away in my efforts.

Esme pulled away from the kiss with a breathless little gasp, her eyes still closed. She bowed her head as she quietly wrapped her fingers around my wrists and pulled them out from behind her back.

"Put your hands in your pockets." Her whisper had a chiding edge to it which I found strangely titillating.

She held my wrists tightly until I did as I was told. Then she placed her hand on my chest and stared pensively up at me. "We should try not to touch each other too much tonight."

I must have looked crestfallen because Esme gave me her infamous exasperated expression.

"Don't give me that look, Carlisle."

"What look?" I pouted.

She tried not to, but I saw her grin as she quickly turned away from me and arranged herself in front of her vanity mirror.

"Go put your suit on."

I reached grudgingly for the suit in question and laid it out on the bed. It offended me just the same no matter how I looked at it. But there was no way to escape it now. I had to put it on.

I let out an exaggerated sigh, but Esme was smart enough to ignore me. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she untwisted a tube of magenta lipstick and leaned toward her mirror.

An invisible hand slapped my cheek to the side so my attention was directed on my own task instead. I lifted my comfortable cotton shirt over my head and tossed it tragically onto the bed. My fingers stiffened as I tried to unbutton my pants, suddenly seized by the feeling that I was being intensely observed. I glanced toward the mirror and noticed Esme watching me discreetly through the reflection.

She looked away quickly when I caught her staring, and I couldn't help feeling a little bit satisfied by that. With her gaze otherwise occupied, I was free to watch her apply her lipstick. I could admit to myself that I found the process somewhat fascinating. As she coated her lips in the rose petal color, she seemed to transform into a different woman.

Esme obviously had no need for cosmetics when we were alone in the house, but she'd taken to using them often when we had to make social appearances, simply to spare suspicions. I knew this was a logical decision - if someone were to get so much as a glimpse of my wife's natural beauty they would surely suspect something strange about her. The makeup provided convenient justification for why she looked as stunning as she did. It was more a disguise than anything else.

I continued to watch her as she brushed blush powder on her cheeks and traced black pencil along her eyelids. But even more fascinating was the scandalous amount of cleavage she displayed when she leaned forward to apply her mascara. Distracted, I barely noticed the unacceptable length of time it was taking me to put my new pants on. I felt senseless heat rise to my face as I struggled to zip up over my steadily growing erection.

Calm down, I told my inner 23-year-old, letting my hands rest at my sides for a moment before slipping my arms into my dress shirt. Unpredictably, Esme stopped me.

"Is that gray?" she asked as if it were the most horrific mistake a man could make.

I nodded pathetically, and she scoffed in disapproval. Quick as a flash, she went into the closet and came back to me with a crisp white shirt. "Always wear white under black," she recited.

I tensed up from her proximity and discreetly let the gray shirt hang low to cover my lap from her view.

"What's wrong with this one?" I asked, gesturing to the shirt I was half-wearing.

She shook her head as she dutifully stripped me of the gray shirt. "You're going to be under a spotlight, Carlisle. The gray will wash you out and make you look even paler than you already are."

I felt a faint tickle of nerves return to my stomach as I was reminded of the pending events of the evening. Any arousal I'd felt moments ago melted away with that thought. I gulped. It was hard to hide the effect from my wife when she was close enough to see my adam's apple slide down my throat.

"Don't you dare wear that expression on stage, Carlisle. People will think you're ill."

I shifted uncomfortably as I tried to straighten my face.

Esme's furious little hands suddenly stopped adjusting and buttoning. She looked hard at me and I saw pity fill her eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I guess I'm just as nervous as you."

I clasped her hand wordlessly and kissed her fingertips. "Tell me everything will be fine?" I murmured into her palm.

She nodded fervently. "It will. I know it will."

I stared down at her dubiously.

"Do you know why they chose you?" she asked me with a knowing smile as she draped my necktie around my shoulders and began to knot it. I shook my head. "Because you have a gift when you speak, Carlisle. You can move people with your words. You make people want to learn more, and you can inspire them to be more giving."

I glowed from her praise, sheepishly looking away when she showered me with unnecessary compliments. I realized now just how much I'd needed to hear them.

"They're putting you up there for a reason, you know," she continued, clearly thrilled with the effect her zealous flattery had on me. "They want a genuine, honest, and caring man to speak for them... And it certainly doesn't hurt to have such a handsome face represent the hospital," she added cheekily, nudging my jaw with her elegant knuckle.

"Esme..." I leaned closer to kiss her, but she stopped me short with a little squeak of alarm. I was confused for a moment when I felt something flat and silky pressed against my mouth. Looking down I saw that she had cleverly flipped the end of my necktie up and was using it to cover my lips.

"You'll ruin my lipstick," she warned with an irresistible smirk.

I looked longingly down at her all the same, but she carried on relentlessly, determined that I shouldn't give in to any more distractions.

"Hand me your jacket," she ordered.

And so I obeyed her thereafter as she finished dressing me. All the while I was limp with lovesickness, staring adoringly at her, wistful that the night would just end right now and I could have her just how I wanted her. But of course I was not so lucky.

She buttoned me up and brushed me off and straightened my tie about a thousand times. Then she noticed my belt was unbuckled, so she tightened it and strapped it together with a disarming amount of strength. My body seemed to want any excuse to become aroused again. I winced and let her finish without interruption.

"Do I have to help you into your shoes, too?" she asked in mock exasperation when she was through.

"I can manage," I told her, grateful for an excuse to sit down.

"Good."

She returned to her mirror to finish curling her eyelashes, and I continued to lament about her covering up her natural beauty. She didn't need any of it. Good Lord, she was pretty enough, I thought with an angry tug on my belt.

I forced myself to stand and walk to the window, hoping the cool air would help. I knew the wind would ruin my hair but I couldn't have cared less at the moment. Luckily I was able to calm down somewhat from my frenzied nerves. That frustrating heat fled my body in one soothing caress of the wind. So did my hairstyle.

"Carlisle, come back here," Esme demanded in her usual motherly way. When I refused to turn away from the window, she came over and pulled me back to the mirror and sat me down on her stool.

I was warmed again by her appealing laughter as she ran her fingers through my mussed up hair. "You're hopeless, you know that?" she whispered with a quick kiss on the top of my head which I barely felt. "Sit still so I can fix you up." She lifted the comb like it was her weapon of choice, and I braced myself for her madness.

I watched her reflection in the mirror in front of us, knowing I should have felt emasculated by her overbearing attention. But I didn't. I just felt very, very loved. And that was a remarkably nice feeling.

I'm sure it would have felt even nicer under the covers.

I glanced at the bed behind us through the mirror, finding the sight of those thick cotton comforters quite appetizing. I briefly entertained a the idea of seducing Esme into staying home tonight, but quickly remembered that this was impossible. Apparently so was my hair.

"I can't seem to get this right," Esme was complaining, even though something in her face seemed almost excited about that one curl that just wouldn't stay in place. "It just doesn't want to stay down, does it?"

Folding my hands in my lap, I cocked an eyebrow and exchanged glances with my reflection. No, it certainly doesn't.

She heaved a sigh of resignation and set the comb down on her vanity table. "I suppose that will have to do." Even so, she didn't stop toying with that one stray curl on my forehead.

"Esme," I said sternly.

She met my eyes innocently through the mirror.

"Let it go, darling."

She bit her lip in apology and withdrew her fidgety fingers.

With that I stood up tall and proud in front of the mirror, taking in my appearance. Truthfully I didn't look much different from my normal everyday self, except for the fact that I felt like a damned piece of corn strapped inside its husk.

"You see, the suit isn't as bad as you thought!" Esme said victoriously, completely misinterpreting my silence.

"I never said it was bad, did I?" I challenged her.

"Not in so many words," she admitted. "But you sure did avoid putting it on for as long as you could. Come to think of it, you wouldn't even look at it when I first showed it to you," she added, laughing at the memory.

I smiled reluctantly. "I guess I just don't like wearing suits."

Esme gaped at me.

"This coming from a man who wore those ridiculous waistcoats in the 1700's!" she exclaimed with a slap against my arm. "You used to prance around in those skin-tight stockings with nine layers of brocade and those silly lace things tied around your poor neck! How on earth is this any worse?"

"First of all, I did not prance,"I said forcefully, straightening my jacket with a stern grip. "Second, I didn't know any better back then. And third, I only wore all of that when I was in formal company. When I was alone I didn't wear any of it."

"Any of it?" she asked with a look of feigned shock. I felt her fingers slip lovingly along the curve of my backside as she awaited my answer.

"Wasn't it you who said we should try not to touch each other tonight?" I asked irritably, ignoring her question.

She instantly snapped her hand out of the way, and I suppressed a feeling of disappointment at the loss of her touch.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle," she apologized, the remnants of her amusement fading away alarmingly fast.

I felt badly for being so harsh with her, but I couldn't very well explain to her the real reasons why her roaming hands posed a serious problem for me tonight.

"It's alright," I sighed my forgiveness, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "It's just my nerves."

She shrugged sweetly and tucked my tie beneath my jacket. "I didn't mean any of it. The prancing, I mean."

I growled playfully and nipped her ear as she struggled against me with wholesome laughter. "Watch it or you'll ruin my hair!" she whimpered, pushing me away.

I smiled fondly at her as she swiftly plucked her silk evening gloves from the drawer and slid them slowly onto her fingers and up her forearms. They were meant to stop at her elbows, but they drooped a little because she didn't like them too tight. I teased her about it until she pulled them all the way up.

She looked disturbingly beautiful either way.

With her delicate silver shoes and diamond jewelry, Esme was a vision to be reckoned with. Edward told her she looked 'exceptionally beautiful' tonight, and Emmett even whistled when he saw her getting into the car, and the whole time I was driving I panicked about the looks she would receive from other men when we walked into the hotel where the benefit was being held.

It had been a long time since I'd felt the sensation of jealousy. I had no reason to envy other men. I had everything I had ever needed or wanted in life. It was more the nasty, sickly feeling of helplessness I felt when a human man gave Esme attention or stared a bit too long. It was not quite jealousy, but the seed that caused it to grow in time. It was a little flame of anger in my chest that demanded full, feral protection of my mate in all circumstances. Some of the men in attendance were practically drooling at the sight of her - and even worse, they weren't even ashamed enough to hide it.

I wasn't surprised they all happened to be those exasperating conformists in their replicated suits.

Then I glanced down at myself and remembered that I looked no different than the rest of them tonight. But Esme, when compared to the other women at the benefit, stood out like Aphrodite in a nunnery.

She still went about smiling like nothing was wrong. She shook hands with people when I introduced her, and she smiled politely when the conversations drifted to topics she knew little about. She took champagne when it was offered to her, and I pretended to drink it right along with her. She held her breath when a particularly sweet-smelling human came into our vicinity, and I squeezed her hand as a signal for when it was clear for her to breathe again.

We did well together for most of the evening, until they directed us into the grand hall for the dinner.

I felt my throat constrict when I saw the roomful of round tables and the stage against the wall. I had to let go of Esme's hand because I realized I was actually beginning to tremble. She noticed anyway.

I pressed my hand to my stomach and stepped back. She pressed her hand to my back and pushed forward.

"Not time for that yet," she reminded me, gesturing with her shoulder to the waitstaff carrying trays of food into the room. "Looks like you'll have to conquer dinner first." We exchanged queasy looks and shared a secret laugh.

I walked her to our table and held the chair out for her, observing many other men do the same for their wives. So far, I thought, we were blending in rather well. I still kept a wandering eye out for suspicious observers, just in case.

After a little while, Esme comfortingly rubbed my thigh beneath the table. "Settle down, sweetheart. No one is looking at us," she remarked, low enough that even the other couples at our table couldn't hear.

But they were looking at us. Four people to be exact. One server, two women over the age of fifty, and one other doctor I knew from the hospital. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, or maybe I was imagining it all because of my nerves. I wanted to give my wife the benefit of the doubt, but I couldn't ignore what my eyes were seeing.

After some coaxing from Esme, I reluctantly joined in the small talk that was occurring at our table. Our conversational skills had improved vastly since the last time we had to interact with other humans together. There was less awkwardness that came with having little in common with the other couples. We had come prepared to prattle on about the petty current events and dull hobbies that consumed most humans' time. I was outwardly impressed when Esme was able to name some local clothing designers to the woman sitting beside her. I hid my grin with a well-timed false sip of champagne. My wife was a talented little actress.

But the acting became admittedly tougher when we were served dinner. Esme had taken to pretending to wipe her mouth after every bite in order to spit out the food and toss it into her handbag beneath the table. I had no easy way to hide the food from my plate, and so I'd had to settle for stuffing it into napkins in my pockets. The last time I'd eaten in front of other humans had ended disastrously. Because I hadn't come prepared, I was forced to swallow half of what was on my plate. Esme and I had spent the rest of that evening outside, coughing up our cordon bleu. Not wanting to relive those unpleasant events, I was determined not to ingest a single crumb tonight.

As we were eating, the lights dimmed and the host came onto the stage. Esme must have sensed my immediate tension, because I soon felt her hand sneak supportively behind my back as the man began to speak to the crowd. In the darkness, I glanced down at the paper program in my lap and read through the names, gulping when I arrived at my own.

I stared blankly at my name, written in fancy script on the page along with all the others. Brave souls, I thought foolishly. I'd never been this anxious for anything in my entire life, especially not something as trivial as giving a speech. I'd never had any problems with speaking in public; even as a human I recalled practicing sermons for the congregation I would one day lead. If I had something important to say, I craved sharing it with an audience. Why, then, was I so frightened to take the stage tonight?

Lost in my thoughts, I jumped a little when I felt Esme's fingers gently pry the corner of the program from my grip. She folded it up and placed it in her own lap, then leaned toward my ear. "You haven't eaten enough, darling."

I glanced at the table full of empty plates, and it became obvious that mine was the only one still half full. I reluctantly lifted my fork and continued the charade of enjoying my food for the sake of the people around me. Thankfully, their attention was mostly focused on the various speakers that had taken the stage. I counted minutes as I mentally checked off the order of the speakers I'd seen on the program. As it came closer to my turn, I started to fidget enough that Esme thought it appropriate to brace her foot against mine beneath the table.

My fork still shook every time I lifted it to my mouth. I was running out of room in my pockets by the time I'd finished about three quarters of my plate, but before I could fabricate an excuse to leave the table for a moment, a man came up behind me and whispered into my ear. "You're next on stage, Doctor Cullen. Better come back with me."

My chest deflated as I looked over at Esme. Her eyes were forlorn but she wore an encouraging smile on her lips. On her heartbreakingly pink lips.

I wanted to scream as I stood up calmly and excused myself from the table. Esme reached out just in time to squeeze my hand before I left. I noticed that her gloves were drooping again.

I felt like I was shrinking steadily in size as I walked further through the dark room full of tables toward the brightly lit hotel hall. I recognized the young man who escorted me as one of the interns that had joined our team earlier this year. He grinned proudly at me as he instructed me to stand just outside the stage entrance. "Just listen for your name and come out whenever he calls you," he said, pointing to our chief of surgery who was presently on the stage. "Good luck, Dr. Cullen!" he said with a pat on my back before disappearing into the dining room.

I glanced down both sides of the seemingly endless hallway, noticing for the first time just how breathtaking the decor was in this place. Marble sideboards marked the walls every ten feet or so, decked with fat white vases full of pink and red roses. Chandeliers with plump pinkish diamonds lined the ceiling, and rich gold and red curtains framed the windows. The carpet was reminiscent of the patterns I'd seen in Persia, and the familiarity gave me a fleeting sense of comfort.

It was so quiet out here.

Self-consciously, I smoothed the front of my jacket, remembering the bits of food I'd stuffed into napkins which I still needed to dispose of. I frantically looked around for a waste bin of some kind, and finding none, I had to settle for stuffing them all into one of the decorative vases. I winced as I dropped the half-chewed food inside, hoping the poor custodian who discovered them wouldn't be too repulsed.

I stood back with my hands stiffly at my sides, realizing I had reached a point where all I could really do was laugh at myself for overreacting. It wasn't the end of the world, even if this night didn't go how I hoped it would. I didn't have anything to lose by doing it; on the contrary I had much to gain. But that was partly what worried me.

The achingly familiar scent of Esme's perfume made me stand up straight. I looked down the hall and saw my wife standing there by the doors, a glowing smile of pity on her lovely face.

"I'm not ready," were the first words I thought to say.

But this made no sense. I had memorized my speech word for word; even with my perfect memory. I had rehearsed my expressions and inflections in the mirror countless times for insurance. I knew there was no reason to fear, yet still I felt a sweet, humbling grip of terror in my heart for what I was about to do.

Esme only smiled. "Of course you are."

I shook my head defiantly as she glided over to where I stood.

She looked me up and down, her eyes sparkling like champagne in the soft chandelier lights. "You look so handsome, Carlisle."

Her compliment, while kind, only made me feel more vulnerable.

"That doesn't make me feel much better," I confessed with a wince.

She spluttered out a reluctant little laugh, and I laughed along with her - quietly, pityingly - both of us trying to relieve the tension.

I felt myself breathing very hard as I stared out onto the stage and back to her. "I think my heart has started beating again."

She shook her head and cupped my cheek in her hand. "When this is all over, you'll be kicking yourself for how ridiculous you sound right now." Her full lips quirked into her signature mocking smile. For a moment I considered kissing her, but then I had some very strong second thoughts about going onstage with bright magenta lips.

"You don't have to worry at all," she whispered, stroking my cheek with her thumb. "You'll be amazing."

Esme's words blended out of existence as the speaker's voice announced my name from the stage.

"Ladies and gentleman, please welcome our very own Doctor Carlisle Cullen."

The last thing I felt was Esme's tiny hand on my back, giving me one final nudge into the dark, glittering room.

My senses were consumed by a gentle sea of applause as I made my entrance. The sound was surprisingly pleasant, welcoming even. But it sounded vague and distant, as if I were underwater. A blinding spotlight found me, and I squinted out at the crowd of distorted faces in the darkness.

There was a short second then, as I felt that unspoken cue to begin speaking, where I feared I had lost my voice entirely. I was only able to recall one moment - Esme's face as she sent me out onto the stage, how she had looked and sounded when she uttered the words, "You'll be amazing." Her eyes glittering, her voice almost worshipful, and her touch - how it lingered on my back just before she sent me off to speak in front of hundreds of humans.

Just as the applause tapered off into respectful silence, I found her face in the crowd. Darkened though she was by shadow, her porcelain beauty and beaming pink lips urged me to let go of my fear.

I introduced myself to the crowd as easily as I would have introduced myself to a friend of a friend. Once I'd said those first few words, nothing could stop me from saying the rest.

With the stage under my command, I realized how much I needed to say. I completely disregarded the carefully crafted notes I had organized for myself earlier that week, and I utterly ignored all of the inflections and expressions I'd practiced in the mirror so many times. Everything I shared with this audience was honest and true. None of it was rehearsed.

I recounted some of the most moving experiences I'd had while working at the hospital. I shared stories about my patients - some humorous and others heartbreaking. I explained the importance of giving, and the rewards that come from donating generously to a good cause. By the end of my time slot, I could hear women sniffling and men murmuring their agreement. But above it all, I could hear my wife whispering her words of encouragement, supporting me just as faithfully as she always had in a time when I needed her most.

I more felt than heard the roar of applause when I finished, and I was overwhelmed by the sense of relief and joy that washed through me as I shook hands with everyone I came into contact with thereafter. As precisely as I'd feared, Esme and I were the central focus of the rest of the evening. And I didn't mind one bit.

Somehow my wife had known all along that I would succeed tonight. Not only did she know I would make it through, but she knew I would do so with colors soaring. I felt a hundred times more the man I was before, so fulfilled by this small but monumental evening. And as we left the hotel that night, still shaking hands with everyone who crossed our path, Esme reminded me repeatedly just how amazing she knew I would be.

"Do you know how many women tonight told me how lucky I am to have you as a husband?" she asked me when we were finally out of earshot of the rest of the departing crowd.

I chuckled low and kissed her forehead. "You'd better not tell me. I happen to work with many of their husbands."

"I can't wait to go home," she confessed as she leaned into me.

"Why is that?" I asked, trying not to reveal too much curiosity.

"So I can take off this lipstick and you can finally kiss me."

-}0{-

It wasn't long after we arrived home that Esme decided what we were going to do with the rest of the evening. Her smile was radiant and a little fierce as she dragged me up the stairs to our bedroom. The tightness of her tiny hand around my elbow sent a lusty fire coursing through my limbs.

I followed longingly after her, beguiled as ever by the unfathomable power that my wife possessed over me. Esme was the epitome of a perfect wife, submissive but never helpless; respectful but never desperate. The hold she had on my heart was intoxicating and frustrating all at the same time. She always kept me guessing, ensuring that I still had to work for her affections while she generously showered me with love when she saw fit. Esme had admitted to me before that she thought it was hard to determine which of us had the upper hand in our relationship. Secretly, I thought the answer was quite obvious. Esme had both her hands over me.

She had a way of being perplexing and mysterious when she wanted to be. Even after so many years of marriage she could still torture me by withholding secrets. I supposed most women shared this infuriating power over men. My Esme was no exception to the age old rule. She had all the guile of a playful sprite and all the grace of a goddess.

As she pushed me into our dark bedroom and twisted around to close the door, I could barely contain the throbbing in my groin.

She reached out to me and her fingers left a teasing trail of heat along my chest. I leaned in to kiss her but she stopped me again. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

With a frustrated chuckle, I immediately remembered her rigid rules about lipstick and kissing. Thankfully, I'd had a solution in mind since the evening began. "Wait here," I told her, whisking her over to sit on the edge of our bed.

I went into the bathroom and let the faucet run warm water over a small washcloth. Esme looked intrigued as I sat down beside her and lifted the damp cloth to her mouth. Her eyes watched me adoringly as I gently scrubbed away the offensive color from her lips.

"Would you be very angry with me if I forbid you from ever wearing lipstick again?" I asked her teasingly.

She gave me a playful glare. "You don't make the rules." Her voice was muffled by the washcloth as I continued rubbing her lower lip.

My voice was helplessly husky when I spoke next. "Sometimes I do."

I met her eyes significantly, appreciating the darkness that infused her gaze at my loving insinuation.

"Not in this case," she said, a little shakily. "And besides, I know you like it."

"Like what?" I asked, pausing mid-scrub to rest my fingers on the corner of her lip.

"When I wear lipstick," she supplied with a slow, seductive smile. Her now naked lips looked ironically even more tempting, plump as they were from my relentless rubbing.

"It is becoming on you," I admitted softly. "But not when it inhibits my freedom to kiss you whenever I please."

Placing her hand over mine, she gently pushed the washcloth down and away. She cocked her head to the side, inviting me in with a purring whisper. "You can kiss me now."

I indulged her promptly with a long, luxurious kiss. Our lips played lazily off each other, exploring and confiding, languid and generous. Eventually my loss of breath caught up to me, but I ignored it in favor of deepening the kiss. Esme moaned softly, and her hand somehow slipped into the waistband of my pants.

I gasped and broke off our kiss, desperate to remove my clothes after a long night of discomfort in formal attire. As I stood up, the first piece I removed was my jacket, which I laid responsibly on the back of a chair. Esme watched me approvingly as I unbuttoned my white shirt and repeated the careful series of actions, making sure the fabric wouldn't wrinkle.

One corner of her mouth turned up sharply as she admired me in my bare chest and dress pants. Slowly, she stood up too and came before me, her gloved hands bracing my hips. "Let me help you out of these pants."

My engorged arousal swelled with excitement at her suggestion. Her fingers made quick work of my belt and buttons. I nearly fell over her when she pulled my zipper down in purposefully slow motion. Feeling defiant, I tore my legs out of the pants and tossed them onto the chair with the rest of my clothes, no longer giving a damn about wrinkles. Esme laced her fingers around my drawers and pulled them off me just as easily, forcing me around to sit on the bed while she made a show of slipping her sleeves off her shoulders. Sooner than I was prepared for, she shimmied free of the bold pink silk, and her breasts bobbed free, her rosy nipples begging for my attention.

I reached out to touch her, but she interrupted by gently pressing her palm against mine before I could. I stared at her in wordless question but her only answer was to tug her dress down past her hips, letting it fall to the floor. I smiled helplessly when she stepped out of her silver heeled slippers, shrinking down to her true height. When she finally stood before me, snow-white and gloriously nude, she stepped closer and loosened her grip on my hand, allowing me to touch her.

I let my fingers entertain themselves, stroking up and down her flat tummy while I covered her neck and bosom in soft, whispery kisses. Needing support, her hands flailed out to clutch my shoulders, her head curving over mine as I tongued her bare skin senselessly.

Her still gloved arm snaked its way between our bodies, close enough to press her silk-encased fingers into my abs. I groaned at the delicious tightness growing in my belly, encouraging her fingers to slide down lower.

"Oh, Carlisle."

I reeled at the way she sighed my name, but I thought it strange how her voice was so overflowing with affection and worship as she palmed my unruly erection. As if I were making a sacrifice for her by letting myself become aroused. As if I had labored hard and long to offer her this, when really all it took was one whisper from her to ignite it.

I stared shyly down at this aching part of my body, filled with wonder that it featured in her every fantasy. I remembered a time when I'd worried that I would not live up to her expectations, having had no experience with physical love before I'd met Esme. I'd spent all my life regarding the male organ as something foolish and troublesome, but after I let Esme touch me, my thoughts turned around completely. This flesh between my legs had precious purpose; a fount of endless offerings for one perfect woman.

It was Esme who had taught me to love and appreciate my body in ways I'd never imagined before. With her guiding hands, I'd learned to find the beauty in myself - both emotional and physical.

She reached down and startled me with the sudden, hot pressure of both her hands as she began kneading my thighs like they were mounds of dough. As deeply as I enjoyed the feeling of the silk against my skin, I longed to take those gloves off her hands.

My trembling fingers made their way suggestively up her forearm where the lip of the glove lay loose around her elbow. In one sly sweep I stole the glove from her right hand, whipping it off inside out and tossing it behind me. With a low growl of appreciation, I kissed her unveiled flesh all along the underside of her arm and down her wrist.

While she was distracted I tried to capture her other gloved hand, but she swiftly hid it behind her back. I looked up at her, and she stared down at me with a conquering smile, pressing down against my shoulder until my back met the mattress.

She joined me on the bed, slinking her way over my body with catlike movements, her slender legs brushing up against mine and her long hair sliding along my skin like a veil of silk. I peered up at her through her lustrous curls, begging her for the intimate touch I so dearly craved.

I was slightly surprised by the expression of deep thought on her pretty face. Wondering what on earth she could be thinking, I opened my mouth to ask what was causing this unprecedented delay. My lips closed at the light pressure of her gloved fingers over my mouth. "Just relax," she said softly, pressing me deeper into the pillows. "I want to try something."

An indecent thrill shot through me at her cryptic whisper. I watched complacently as she used her teeth to pull the end of her glove off the tips of her fingers. Her eyes never left mine as she stretched out the delicate magenta glove, testing it for durability. My breath hitched when I realized her intentions. Before I could protest, her hands came toward my face, aligning the silky glove over my eyes to blindfold me.

"Darling, what-"

"Just trust me, Carlisle," she sighed, kissing my nose as she tied a knot behind my head.

I blew out a long, shaky breath, not so keen about losing my primary sense so early in the night. Still, I knew I could trust Esme.

I started a bit at the introduction of her fingertips along my collarbone, which she traced with a light and loving touch. Her hands moved to each of my shoulders, defining the curves and lines in my biceps as she worked her way down both my arms at once. The way she touched me always reminded me of how she made art, the quick, precise, passionate motions akin to smudging charcoal into canvas paper. The tension I'd initially felt melted somewhat under my wife's tenderly massaging fingers. As nice as the silk had felt, no sensation could compare to her bare skin against mine.

When her hands found mine, I clasped her fingers appreciatively for a moment, giving her my unvoiced blessing to continue the journey wherever she pleased. I thought I heard her laugh softly as her hands wriggled free of my grip, but I couldn't be certain.

Her fingers returned, warmer this time, on my breast where my heart should have beat. She dragged her knuckles down the tough flatness of my chest, and twisted her fingertips gently around my nipples. Then she traveled further, her fingers floating like mist across a dewy field. She drew trails like rivers down my stomach, and eventually let her fingers slide into more intimate territory.

At first I thought it was her finger. But the preposterous slickness made me second guess that assumption.

It wasn't her finger. It was her tongue.

"Esme!" I hissed out her name in shock.

I couldn't help it. The game was over. I whipped her makeshift blindfold off my eyes and stared at her in flushed disbelief.

"Carlisle, it's alright... I want this," she assured me, her chin still poised inches above my lap.

At a loss for speech, I simply shook my head in breathless denial.

"I know this is something you've wanted, too," she added quietly as her fingers gently clutched my thigh.

My mouth fell open and I continued to stare, completely disarmed by her blunt but all too true assumption. In our twenty years of marriage, this had always been the unspoken point at which we glossed over our true desires. While my wife did not suppress her passions consciously, her memories and fears sometimes did it for her.

"I don't want anything that makes you uncomfortable," I said, honest but hesitant.

"I know that." She smiled softly in understanding as she bent down, so achingly feminine and full of quiet power. Although my body was blazing with anticipation, I was still overwhelmed and confused by her shift in behavior.

"Wait!"

Her tongue flickered longingly between her lips as her gaze met mine, and I shut my eyes tightly to regain my composure.

"Why tonight?" I whispered to her from my pillow.

A content gleam filled her dark eyes as she reached out and gently petted my hand on the bed. "Because you deserve it."

She let out an amused little chuckle, presumably at the expression on my face, which I supposed was simultaneously puzzled and glowing with pure masculine pride. Planting both hands between my arms and my sides, she raised herself up and leaned across me to grace my lips with a long, loving kiss.

I felt my heart grow warm with want as her lips lingered on my mouth. She whispered her affections into my skin, and my eyes closed in utter peace while she trailed her kisses down my neck, across my chest, and finally down the center of my stomach. I tensed when I felt the plush wetness of her lips tease my thigh, but I was rewarded with an exquisite explosion of pleasure when she took me into her mouth.

Esme had kissed me here before - several times in fact - but her kisses felt different when they fell below my waist. I'd always felt that she had intended for them to feel like accidents rather than a purposeful placement of her lips. She'd treated me in swift and delicate form, with a brief brush of her bottom lip or a feathery flicker of the tip of her tongue. Yet however swift, discreet, or shy those kisses had been, they had thrilled me in ways more profound than I could comprehend. I longed for more from her, but I'd never known how to tell her this.

I should have known she'd been reading my desires from the very beginning.

The thought sent a divine wave of humble delight through my body. A quiet moan rose from my throat as I succumbed to her prowess. Yet even in my dazed state, I could sense her timidity in the way she moved her lips around me. For how generously she suckled me, there was an innocence to the way she tucked and twirled her tongue. And that made the experience all the more overpowering.

I had imagined this scenario many times before, but I'd never dared make any hints to Esme. I was firmly devoted to letting her set the pace for every step in our relationship. Sometimes she was even ready to take those steps before I was, but we had always been honest with one another. Even so, I never imagined I could be rewarded so handsomely for simply waiting.

Time was kind to me - very kind indeed. I felt it in the clasping of her warm lips, the gentle scrape of her teeth against my sensitive flesh, the excruciating purrs pouring into my body through her moving mouth.

"Oh, Esme..."

I could barely find words, my hand shaking as it came to helpless rest on my hip. Never alone for long, Esme's hand soon crept upon mine. The gesture was comforting and reassuring; and at the same time, it aroused me even more.

I could feel the dangerous tremors of a fast-approaching climax beginning in my muscles. Like smooth fire in my legs, and white-hot pebbles dancing across my midriff. Everything melted into one glorious sensation that continued to rise like a tidal wave and wither like a handful of burnt grass.

"Darling..." I tried to warn her as I felt myself coming closer to the edge. I managed to whisper one word: "Please," before she finally looked up at me. "Th-that's enough now," I told her, as gently as I could with a clenched jaw and uncontrollable rip-tides of pleasure.

She looked up at me, startled, her gaze sparkling with understanding. I reached for her with trembling fingers and she gripped me, falling into my embrace.

For as many times as I wanted to tell her that I loved her, she forced me into a state of silence with her eyes. I would move to kiss her, but my body would seize altogether, stopped still by a piercing glance of pure gold. She reigned over me for a long while in our bed, and I was more than willing to subject myself to her whims for as long as she pleased.

At the height of our passion, we tangled together in bliss, rolling over into what seemed to be the inevitable nesting of nature's intention. Somehow it always happened so that my body lay vigilant over hers, bending and rising with pride and purpose. And she became my sublime place of rest beneath me, soft and begging, whispering her words of encouragement.

Her flesh was pinker than usual - a pink vivid enough to shame that of the dress she wore earlier that night. I let my fingers venture down, stroking and stretching her delicate flesh. Like petals she parted, warm and slick with nectar, all because of my nurturing touch. I had been to so many exotic places in this world, but never had I discovered a flower as rare and precious and strange and wonderful as Esme's.

Her white thighs trembled as they fell apart, brushing my hipbones like velvet on stone. I watched her intently as I entered her. Hair thrown back and eyes black with passion, she was exquisite. So perfect and responsive and beautiful that I couldn't help but push deeper into her. I steeped inside of her, her venom coating me like warm honey, and I moved slowly within her, feeling us as one, pulsing and reaching.

I felt my face burning as my hips began their impulsive dance, savoring the delectable friction between our flesh.

"Harder, Carlisle," Esme uttered in a silky growl. Without my consent, my hips kneaded more violently against hers. And I loved her just like that, for the entire night, riding on a pulsing beat prompted by desire.

We poured ourselves into one another until we had been filled to our limits, and we laid ourselves to rest under a blanket of peace.

The next time I opened my eyes, a beautiful vision greeted me. The pale golden light of morning seeped through the open window and soaked into the white blankets covering our bed. To me, the most fascinating part of lovemaking was studying the effects it had left in its wake. So many times I let my hands wander down my own body, sensing the ways my muscles grew lax and my skin simmered with contentment. My eyes found notable markings where her teeth had nipped me, and fading blots of pink where her lipstick had stained all the palest parts of my anatomy. I had to smile smugly when I noticed how the palest parts of me were now the pinkest.

Beside me, Esme's body stretched out like a slender lioness, her naked skin glowing in the new sun. I touched her as if it were my first time touching her, with fingers that ached to discover and experience. She was such a divine possession, one which I could never honor completely, even with all the years of my life to service her.

When she finally turned her head to look at me, her eyes were full of love, and the curve of her mouth still echoed the pleasures we'd shared the night before. Her fingers fluttered down my bare chest as she teased me about having ruined my speaking skills for good.

I assured her that my ability to speak was of no importance to me.

It had already earned me my prize.