Twilight Moon

The howl of the wind was a living thing, a predator clawing at the log walls of the tiny mountain cabin. Outside, the world had vanished, erased by a blizzard that had descended with the sudden, violent fury of a vengeful god. Inside, the silence was a different kind of storm, a suffocating pressure that was, in its own way, just as violent. It was a silence weighted with a century of animosity, of battles fought and lines drawn, of a shared love for a woman who was now a memory that belonged to them both.

Trapped. The word was an absurdity for a vampire who could outrun the wind and a shapeshifter who was the embodiment of untamed nature. Yet, here they were. Trapped.

Edward sat in a worn armchair, a book open on his lap, though he hadn't turned a page in over an hour. His stillness was absolute, a carefully constructed façade of calm that felt brittle enough to shatter. The fire was the only source of light and sound, its hungry crackle a constant, low counterpoint to the gale outside. The flames danced, casting long, wavering shadows that slid over the sharp, sculpted planes of his face, catching on the marble-like pallor of his skin. He was acutely, painfully aware of the other presence in the room.

Jacob Black was a furnace. He radiated a heat that was almost a physical blow in the small space, a constant, humid pressure against Edward’s cold skin. He couldn't sit still. He paced the length of the small room, from the stone hearth to the single, snow-blinded window, his heavy boots thudding a restless rhythm on the floorboards. The movement was pure animal instinct, a wolf caged and chafing at the bars.

Every time Jacob passed, Edward’s senses were assaulted. The scent of him was overwhelming, a potent mix of damp pine needles, wet earth, and the musky, feral scent of the wolf that was never truly dormant. It was a scent Edward had always associated with territorial aggression, with snarling lips and the threat of violence. But now, stripped of the context of battle, it was just… elemental. Primal. It seeped into the air, thick and cloying, and for the first time, Edward found he couldn't simply filter it out. It was a distraction he couldn't tune out, unlike the silent minds of his family. Jacob's mind was a roaring, impenetrable blank, forcing Edward to contend with the purely physical reality of him.

And what a reality it was. The firelight seemed to love him, clinging to the powerful curve of his broad shoulders, highlighting the thick, corded muscles in his neck and forearms as he ran a hand through his damp, black hair. His flannel shirt, a cheap, mortal affectation, was stretched taut across his back, the fabric straining to contain the sheer power coiled beneath. He was all raw, kinetic energy, a stark and vibrant contrast to Edward’s cold, static grace.

Edward’s eyes, the color of molten gold in the firelight, followed Jacob’s restless movements, an unwilling spectator to this display of contained power. He watched the way Jacob’s jeans fit snugly over his thick thighs, the muscles shifting with every step. He noted the size of his hands, the rough, calloused fingers, the sheer physicality that seemed to absorb all the oxygen in the room. It was an observation devoid of the usual calculation and disdain. It was something else, something deeper and more unsettling. It was an acknowledgement. In this forced proximity, stripped of their allies and their usual battlegrounds, they were just two beings, ancient and powerful, hyper-aware of each other in a way that was new and dangerously intimate. The silence stretched, pulled taut between them, vibrating with everything they had never said. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.

The thudding of Jacob’s boots stopped. The abrupt cessation of the rhythm was more jarring than the sound itself. Edward didn’t look up from his book, but every sense he possessed was trained on the spot by the hearth where Jacob now stood, a monolith of simmering frustration silhouetted against the fire. The heat rolling off him intensified, a palpable wave that felt like it was scorching the air.

“I can’t do this,” Jacob’s voice was a low growl that vibrated through the floorboards. It was the first thing either of them had said in hours, and the sound ripped through the fragile quiet. “Just sitting here. Waiting. While you pretend to read that book like none of this is happening.”

Edward finally lifted his eyes, his golden gaze cool and unruffled. “And what would you have me do, Jacob? Challenge the blizzard to a duel? You are the one who insisted on this… location.” He imbued the word with a delicate disdain, a subtle reminder of whose territory they were on.

“Don’t,” Jacob warned, taking a heavy step forward. The floor creaked in protest. “Don’t you dare use that calm, superior vampire bullshit on me right now. You think this is easy for me? Being stuck in a shoebox with a leech who smells like… like that?” He gestured vaguely at Edward, his hand clenched into a fist.

“And you smell of wet dog and desperation,” Edward retorted, his voice silk over steel. He rose from the chair in a single, fluid motion, the book forgotten as it slid to the floor. He met Jacob’s advance, refusing to cede an inch of ground. “It is an unfortunate arrangement for us both. However, unlike you, I possess the self-control to endure it without resorting to adolescent theatrics.”

That was the spark. Jacob’s face contorted with rage, his dark eyes flashing. In two long strides, he closed the remaining distance between them, his chest slamming into Edward’s. The impact was jarring, a collision of ice and fire. Edward was immovable, a statue of cold marble, but the heat from Jacob’s body was a physical assault, seeping through the layers of his clothing, a shocking, invasive warmth that his system was utterly unprepared for.

They were nose to nose, Jacob’s taller, broader frame forcing Edward’s head back slightly. “Self-control?” Jacob snarled, his voice dropping to a furious, intimate whisper. His breath, hot and humid, ghosted over Edward’s cold lips, carrying the scent of pine and something else, something wild and musky that was purely wolf. It was no longer a background scent; it was a deluge, flooding Edward’s senses, short-circuiting a century of practiced detachment. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and utterly infuriating.

Beneath the anger, a different, more primal instinct clawed its way to the surface inside Edward. He felt his hands move, not to push Jacob away, but to seize. His fingers curled, bunching the thick, soft flannel of Jacob’s shirt, twisting the fabric into tight knots. The action was automatic, desperate, a need to anchor himself against the sensory onslaught. And then he felt it. Beneath the cheap cotton was a wall of muscle, hard and unyielding. It wasn’t the cold, smooth stone of his own kind; it was vibrant, alive, radiating a volcanic heat that pulsed against his knuckles. It was a shocking, solid reality. The sheer, living power of the man—the wolf—in front of him was a revelation, a tactile truth his hands were learning before his mind could process it. His grip tightened, his knuckles pressing into the solid swell of Jacob’s pectoral muscle, and a low, involuntary sound threatened to escape his own throat. The argument was gone, burned away by a sudden, terrifying proximity that had nothing to do with their old animosity and everything to do with the solid, hot body pressed against his.

Logic fractured. The carefully constructed dam of a century’s worth of restraint, of discipline and denial, did not crack; it exploded. The overwhelming sensory data—the suffocating heat, the primal scent, the shocking, living solidity of the body pressed against his—bypassed every rational thought he possessed. It was pure, unthinking impulse, a primal response to a primal force. It was the predator inside him, silent for so long, recognizing an equal and opposite predator and choosing not to fight or flee, but to consume.

Edward surged forward, closing the final, infinitesimal gap between them.

His mouth crashed against Jacob’s. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a collision, an act of frustrated, furious possession. His lips, cold and hard as marble, ground against the shocking warmth and softness of Jacob's. There was no tenderness, no prelude, only the raw, unadulterated fury of their century-long conflict channeled into a single, brutal point of contact. It was a desperate, violent attempt to conquer the overwhelming sensory input by devouring its source. He bit down, tasting the faint salt of Jacob's skin, a desperate need to leave a mark, to claim this overwhelming force as his own, even for a second.

For a split second, Jacob was rigid with shock, his entire body going taut beneath Edward’s hands. His mind was a roaring blank, but his body screamed surprise. Then, a tremor, a deep shudder, ran through his massive frame. The shock wasn’t fear; it was recognition. And it was answered in kind. A low growl vibrated from deep in Jacob’s chest, a sound of pure, untamed instinct that resonated through Edward’s own body. Jacob met the assault with a ferocity that stole Edward’s breath—if he’d had any to steal.

His response was immediate and overwhelming. Jacob’s large, calloused hands, which had been clenched at his sides, shot up, not to push Edward away, but to seize him. His fingers tangled in Edward’s bronze hair, the grip tight, bruising, utterly possessive. The warmth of his palms against Edward’s cold scalp was another shock to the system, a searing brand. He wasn’t gentle. He fisted his hands in the strands, yanking Edward’s head back at a sharp angle, forcing his neck to arch, exposing his throat. It was an act of pure dominance, a wolf asserting its power, and it sent a jolt of something dark and thrilling through Edward’s static veins.

The new angle gave Jacob the access he sought. With Edward’s mouth forced open in a silent gasp, Jacob’s tongue thrust inside. It was a shocking, wet invasion. Edward’s mouth, a place that had known only the cold, metallic tang of blood for a hundred years, was suddenly, violently flooded with sensation. The heat was the first thing that registered, a living, pulsing heat that was almost painful in its intensity. It coated his own tongue, the roof of his mouth, a stark and vibrant contrast to his own deathly cold. And then came the flavor. It was an impossible, complex taste—pine and rain-soaked earth, a hint of woodsmoke, and underneath it all, a wild, musky flavor that was purely, unmistakably Jacob. It was an assault of life, of warmth, of raw, mortal flavor that his senses had no frame of reference for.

The sensation was so overwhelming, so utterly foreign and potent, that it bypassed his mind entirely and struck something deep and dormant within him. Control was a memory. Logic was ash. A sound tore from his throat, a low, guttural groan of unwilling, undeniable pleasure that was swallowed by Jacob’s mouth. It was the sound of a century of stillness being shattered by a wave of pure, carnal sensation, the sound of a statue cracking from a fire lit within. The battle of their lips and teeth and tongues raged on, a frantic, devouring thing born of hatred and something else, something terrifying and new that was being forged in the heat of the cabin and the storm of their kiss.

The kiss shattered like glass, leaving only the sharp, cutting edges of the silence that followed. They broke apart, but only by inches, their chests still heaving in a shared, ragged rhythm. Air, thick with the scent of ozone from the storm and the musky, living aroma of Jacob, filled Edward’s unneeded lungs. He stared, his golden eyes wide with a horror that was rapidly being consumed by a terrifying, electric curiosity. Jacob’s own dark eyes were blown wide, reflecting the firelight and a mirror image of Edward’s disbelief.

The fight was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous. The raw, physical proof of their mutual, traitorous desire pressed insistently between them, a hot, hard reality against the worn denim of their jeans. It was an undeniable, biological betrayal of a century’s worth of hatred.

Jacob’s hand, which had been fisted in Edward’s hair, slid down the back of his neck. The calloused warmth of his palm was a stark contrast to the glacial smoothness of Edward’s skin. A shiver, completely involuntary and entirely new, traced its way down Edward’s marble spine. Jacob’s thumb began to stroke the nape of his neck, a slow, inquisitive caress that sent another jolt of unwanted pleasure through him. He could feel the frantic, super-human pulse in Jacob’s thumb, a drumming beat of life against his own stillness.

Edward’s gaze dropped from Jacob’s stunned eyes to his mouth. His lips were parted, swollen from the bruising force of their kiss. He could still taste him—a wild, earthy flavor of pine and salt and something uniquely Jacob. A low, guttural sound, more animal than human, escaped Edward’s throat. It was the sound of a century of rigid control finally, irrevocably snapping.

That sound was all the permission Jacob needed. The horror in his eyes was consumed by a dark, possessive heat. He surged forward again, but this time there was no anger in the kiss. It was pure, desperate hunger. His mouth slanted over Edward’s, his tongue sweeping past still, perfect teeth to reclaim the territory it had just discovered. Edward met him with equal desperation, his own cold tongue tangling with Jacob’s heat in a dance that was both foreign and devastatingly right.

Edward’s hands, which had been fisted in Jacob’s shirt, were now frantic, clumsy as they tore at the buttons of the flannel. A button popped, skittering across the wooden floor. Jacob growled his approval, his own hands moving from Edward’s neck to the hem of his sweater, yanking it upwards with impatient strength. The cool air of the cabin hit Edward’s torso, but it was nothing compared to the searing heat that followed as Jacob’s hands splayed across his bare chest.

“God,” Jacob breathed against his mouth, his fingers tracing the hard, sculpted lines of Edward’s abdomen. “You’re like… polished stone. Fucking freezing.” But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed closer, as if trying to warm Edward with his own internal furnace.

They stumbled back, a tangle of limbs and desperate mouths, until the back of Jacob’s knees hit the edge of the thick bearskin rug before the hearth. They fell together, a heap of animosity and newfound lust. Jacob landed on his back with a soft whump, pulling Edward down on top of him. The heat radiating from his body through the layers of their clothes was staggering. Edward braced himself on his hands, straddling Jacob’s hips, their erections grinding together through the denim, creating an exquisite friction that made him see stars.

Jacob’s hands were everywhere, roaming over Edward’s back, his arms, his hair, as if trying to map a new and impossible continent. He fumbled with the button of Edward’s jeans, his fingers hot and urgent. Edward reciprocated, his own movements surprisingly deft as he unfastened Jacob’s belt and jeans, pushing them down his powerful, muscular thighs.

The moment their bare skin touched—the glacial cold of Edward’s stomach against the fiery heat of Jacob’s—they both hissed. It was a shock to the system, a meeting of impossible elements. Jacob’s skin was a brand, and Edward’s was a quenching chill. Jacob bucked his hips, a raw, needy sound torn from his throat as their lengths pressed together, slick with pre-ejaculate. Edward gasped, his head thrown back, his entire body rigid with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He had never felt anything like this. The friction, the heat, the sheer, overwhelming life of the man beneath him was an assault on his senses.

He bent his head, his mouth finding the pulse point on Jacob’s throat, tasting the salt of his skin, breathing in the scent of him. Jacob’s hands fisted in his hair, guiding his movements, his hips beginning to move in a desperate, frantic rhythm against him. There were no words, only the crackling of the fire, the harsh gasps of their breath, and the wet, slick sound of their bodies moving together. It wasn't love. It was something far more primal, a violent exorcism of a century of rage and longing, culminating in this single, impossible act on a cabin floor, with a blizzard raging outside and a war for their souls raging within.

The hours that followed were a strange, timeless limbo. The blizzard howled its fury outside, a white wall of impenetrable rage, but inside the cabin, the only storm was the silent, crackling tension between them. The initial frenzy had burned itself out, leaving behind not embers, but a dense, superheated core of lust. Their clothes lay in a discarded heap near the door, a testament to the violent haste of their first encounter. Now, on the thick, dark fur of the bearskin rug, there was a different energy. It was slower, more deliberate, a predatory curiosity that had replaced the blind rage.

Jacob lay back, propped on his elbows, the firelight dancing over the planes of his broad chest and the powerful columns of his legs. His skin, a warm russet brown, seemed to soak up the golden light, glowing with an inner furnace that Edward could feel from a foot away. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in a steady, powerful rhythm that was the only sound besides the fire.

Edward knelt between Jacob’s parted thighs. He was mesmerized. For a century, he had viewed this body only as a weapon, a threat. He’d seen its power, its speed, its capacity for violence. But he had never truly looked at it. He had never appreciated the raw, breathtaking artistry of it. The thick, corded muscles of Jacob’s thighs were sculpted with a strength that was purely organic, earned and natural. Not like his own body, which was a static, unchanging perfection carved from stone. Jacob’s body was a living, breathing landscape of power.

Hesitantly, as if approaching a wild creature he wasn’t sure wouldn’t bolt or bite, Edward reached out. He rested his palm on the inside of Jacob’s right thigh. A sharp hiss of breath escaped Jacob’s lips. The contact was an electric shock for them both. Edward’s hand was impossibly cold, like a river stone, against the searing heat of Jacob’s skin. For Jacob, the chill was a jolt that shot straight to his groin. For Edward, the heat was a marvel, a vibrant, thrumming life force that seemed to hum against his palm. He could feel the blood pumping just beneath the surface, a wild, rapid pulse.

His fingers, long and pale, began to trace the lines of muscle, mapping the terrain. He followed the long, powerful sweep of the sartorius muscle from the knee upwards, marveling at how it flexed under his touch. Jacob’s entire leg tensed, his breath catching in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. His dark eyes were fixed on Edward’s face, watching the vampire’s focused, almost reverent expression.

The sight of Jacob’s arousal was impossible to ignore. His cock, thick and dark, lay heavy against his belly, already half-hard, slick with a bead of clear fluid at the tip that caught the firelight like a tiny diamond. The scent of him—pine, musk, and raw, male arousal—was intoxicating, clouding Edward’s senses.

Driven by an impulse he didn’t understand and didn’t want to fight, Edward leaned down. His bronze hair fell forward, brushing against the skin of Jacob’s inner thigh. He lowered his head until his lips hovered just above the heated skin. He could feel the waves of warmth radiating from him, could see the fine hairs on Jacob’s leg stand on end in anticipation.

Then, he touched him with his mouth.

He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin high on Jacob’s inner thigh, and Jacob’s back arched off the rug with a strangled gasp. The contrast was exquisite torment. Edward’s lips were icy, a stark, shocking cold against the furnace of Jacob’s skin. He didn’t kiss him, not at first. He just held his mouth there, letting the sensation sink in, feeling the violent shudder that wracked Jacob’s powerful frame. Then, slowly, deliberately, he extended his tongue. It was just as cold, and wet, and it traced a slow, slick path upwards. Each inch was a discovery, a new brand of chilling fire. Jacob’s hands, which had been resting on the rug, clenched into tight fists, his knuckles white as he gripped the thick fur. His hips began to twitch, an involuntary movement, chasing the source of the impossible pleasure. Edward continued his ascent, a slow, deliberate worship, his gaze lifting to watch the silent, agonized ecstasy twist Jacob’s features as his icy tongue moved ever closer to the pulsing, searing heat at the apex of his thighs.

The journey up his thigh felt like an eternity and an instant. Jacob’s entire consciousness had narrowed to that single, gliding point of contact. When Edward’s mouth finally reached the juncture of his thigh and groin, a low, wounded sound was torn from Jacob’s chest. He felt the cold, damp puff of the vampire’s breath against the base of his cock, and his hips jerked upward in a desperate, involuntary plea.

And then, Edward’s mouth was on him.

It wasn't just cold; it was a profound, shocking absence of heat that seemed to pull all the warmth from Jacob’s body and concentrate it in his erection. The sensation was so alien, so utterly outside the realm of his experience, that for a second, his brain simply short-circuited. His vision went white at the edges. Edward’s lips, firm and impossibly smooth, closed around the thick, sensitive head of his cock, and Jacob felt as though he’d been plunged into an icy mountain stream. A full-body tremor seized him, a violent shudder that started in his toes and ended with his teeth chattering.

Edward took him deeper, his mouth a slick, cold sheath. Jacob cried out, a raw, ragged sound swallowed by the crackling of the fire. The vampire’s tongue, a marvel of cold, agile muscle, began to work its magic. It wasn’t just the temperature; it was the texture. It was smoother, harder than a human tongue, and it moved with a preternatural dexterity, tracing the sensitive frenulum, swirling around the corona, creating patterns of exquisite friction that sent jolts of pure, agonizing pleasure shooting through his nervous system. It was too much. It was a sensory overload that threatened to shatter his sanity.

His hands, which had been fisted in the bearskin, were now scrabbling for purchase, his nails digging into the thick hide as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality. His hips began to move, bucking against Edward’s mouth, a frantic, mindless rhythm. He was chasing the feeling, trying to drive himself deeper into that impossible crucible of ice and fire. He needed more of it, all of it, even as it was destroying him.

Edward seemed to sense his desperation. He made a low sound of approval in his throat, a deep hum that vibrated through Jacob’s cock and straight into his spine. He braced his pale hands on Jacob’s thighs, holding him steady, taking control of the rhythm. He was relentless. His head bobbed in a steady, punishing tempo, taking Jacob to the hilt again and again. Each time he swallowed him down, the cold vacuum of his throat sent a fresh wave of paralyzing pleasure crashing through Jacob’s body.

Jacob’s vision swam. The fire-lit cabin blurred into a swirl of gold and shadow. All he knew was the feeling of being devoured, of being consumed by this beautiful, frozen predator. He could feel his own pre-ejaculate weeping from the tip of his cock, slicking the passage for Edward’s relentless mouth. He was close, dangerously close, the pleasure coiling so tightly in his gut it felt like a physical blow. But he couldn’t let it end like this. He couldn’t let Edward have this complete and total power over him. The thought was a flare of defiance in the fog of his bliss. He needed to be on top. He needed to be in control. He needed to see the vampire come undone beneath him.

With a guttural roar that was part pleasure and part pure defiance, Jacob acted. He hooked his hands under Edward’s shoulders, hauling him upwards with a surge of raw, wolfish strength. Edward’s mouth slipped from his cock with a wet sound, his golden eyes wide with surprise as he was lifted. For a split second, they were kneeling, chest to chest, their breath mingling in the heated air. Then, in one fluid, powerful motion, Jacob twisted and shoved, reversing their positions.

Edward hit the thick bearskin rug with a soft thud, the sound swallowed by the fur. He landed on his back, his slender, pale frame looking startlingly fragile pinned beneath Jacob’s heavy, muscular body. Jacob caged him completely, his knees bracketing Edward’s narrow hips, his hands planted firmly on the rug on either side of Edward’s head. The vampire didn’t struggle. He simply stared up at Jacob, his lips parted, a flicker of something dark and yielding in his gaze.

Jacob’s eyes raked over the body beneath him. The smooth, sculpted perfection of Edward’s torso, the flat plane of his stomach, and, rising from a nest of dark bronze hair, his erection. It was a thing of impossible beauty, as pale and flawless as the rest of him, looking as if it had been carved from marble. It was fully, achingly hard, the veins standing out in faint relief against the smooth, cool surface. Jacob’s own cock, still slick from Edward’s mouth, pulsed with a renewed, demanding ache.

He would not be devoured. He would be the one to consume.

Lowering himself with a desperate, hungry urgency, Jacob brought his mouth down on Edward. The first touch was a shock of opposites. His own mouth, hot and wet and intensely alive, against the cool, stone-like flesh of the vampire. He heard Edward’s breath hitch, a sharp, shocked sound. It was all the encouragement Jacob needed.

He took him in with a possessive ferocity, his mouth closing over the entire head. He wasn’t slow or deliberate like Edward had been. This was a frantic, desperate claiming. His tongue, hot and rough, swirled and laved, mapping every millimeter of the smooth, marble flesh. He sucked hard, creating a powerful vacuum, trying to draw the very essence of the vampire into himself. He felt Edward’s hips jerk beneath him, a reflexive, upward thrust into the heat of his mouth.

Growing bolder, Jacob began to use his teeth. He grazed them lightly down the side of the thick shaft, feeling the subtle vibration that ran through Edward’s entire body in response. He traced the intricate pattern of veins with the tip of his tongue, tasting the faint, clean, mineral taste of him. He was relentless, a starving man at a feast, and his only goal was to break the iron control of the creature beneath him.

He found his prize when he drew the full length of the vampire’s erection deep into his throat, the cool, hard tip bumping against the back of his palate.

A sound ripped from Edward’s chest.

It wasn't a word. It was a raw, guttural groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that Jacob had never imagined could come from him. It was the sound of a century of restraint shattering into a million pieces. Edward’s head thrashed against the rug, his sculpted features twisted in a mask of agonized ecstasy. His fingers, which had been lying limp at his sides, shot up to fist brutally in Jacob’s hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there, to grind his mouth harder against his cock.

The sound was like a drug to Jacob. It was victory. It was power. It sent a fresh wave of savage lust crashing through him. He pulled back just enough to gasp for air before diving down again, devouring him, his movements becoming rougher, more frantic. He was chasing those sounds, needing to hear them again, needing to be the one who could wrench them from the vampire’s perfect throat. Edward obliged, his voice cracking on a high, keening note as Jacob’s hot, wet mouth worked its relentless, punishing rhythm, pushing them both closer and closer to an edge neither of them had known existed.

The raw sound of Edward’s pleasure was a catalyst, a spark hitting gunpowder. It drove Jacob mad. But as he worked his mouth over the vampire, a desperate, selfish need clawed its way through his lust. He wanted that impossible coldness on him again, needed it, even as he was inflicting his own heat on Edward.

As if hearing his unspoken thought, Edward arched up from the rug, a violent, fluid motion of pure instinct. His hands, still tangled brutally in Jacob’s hair, pulled him down as his own body twisted. It was a clumsy, frantic scramble, a collision of limbs and desperate intent. And then, as Jacob’s mouth was still latched onto him, Edward’s found him.

The shock of it was electric. Edward’s cold, slick lips closed around the base of his shaft, and Jacob gasped, the sound muffled against Edward’s skin. They settled into a messy, frantic sixty-nine, their bodies side-by-side on the thick fur, a tangle of hot, dark skin and pale, cool marble. The air filled with wet, desperate sounds as they moved against each other, their mouths full, their minds obliterated by the dual assault on their senses.

For Jacob, it was a dizzying vortex of sensation. The searing heat and rough texture of his own tongue driving Edward to ruin, feeling the hard flesh pulse and jerk against his palate, while simultaneously being engulfed by the exquisite, icy fire of Edward’s mouth. He could feel the vampire’s skillful tongue working on him, a chilling counterpoint to the heat he was generating.

Edward was completely lost. The raw, animal heat of Jacob’s mouth was anathema to his very nature, yet he craved it with a desperation that terrified him. It was wet and alive and tasted of the forest, of blood and salt and pure, unadulterated life. He met Jacob’s frantic rhythm with his own, his hips beginning to buck, his cold mouth working with a punishing speed that mirrored the desperate thrusts of Jacob’s. Their bodies, slick with saliva and the sweat that beaded on Jacob’s skin, slapped against each other, a primal beat in the fire-lit silence.

The pressure built with breathtaking speed, a frantic climb toward a shared precipice. Jacob felt it coiling in the base of his spine, a tight, burning knot of impending release. He could feel the tension in Edward’s body, the way the stone-like muscles went taut as a bowstring beneath his hands. He pushed his mouth harder against him, sucking greedily, even as he thrust his own hips forward, driving himself deeper into Edward’s cold, expert mouth.

It happened at once. A single, shared moment of oblivion.

A guttural roar was torn from Jacob’s throat, a sound of pure, possessive victory as his orgasm ripped through him. His body convulsed, his back arching off the rug as he flooded Edward’s mouth with his hot, thick release. At the exact same instant, Edward screamed into Jacob’s flesh, a high, melodic cry of pure, shattering pleasure. His entire body went rigid, shuddering with a force that seemed impossible for his slender frame, and a hot, copious gush of his own release pulsed against Jacob’s tongue.

The world dissolved into white noise and blinding sensation. For a long, shuddering moment, they remained locked together, their mouths still moving sluggishly, their bodies trembling with the violent aftershocks.

Then, the tension broke. Jacob’s strength gave out completely, and he collapsed. Not away from Edward, but onto him, his full, heavy, furnace-hot body slumping down to cover the vampire’s cool, still form. He buried his face in the crook of Edward’s neck, his own sweat and their mingled saliva slicking the skin there. The contrast was stark, shocking: his radiating heat against the unyielding chill of Edward’s marble skin.

For a long time, the only sound in the cabin was the crackle of the fire and their own harsh, ragged breaths mingling in the air. The wild, frantic energy of their lust evaporated, leaving a heavy, profound silence in its wake. Jacob didn’t move. He couldn’t. He could feel the slow, steady, unnecessary beat of his own heart pounding against Edward’s still chest. The scent of pine from the fire, of sex, and of them—this impossible, monstrous combination of them—was thick and cloying.

The reality began to sink in, cold and sharp as the winter air outside. He was lying, spent and naked, on top of his mortal enemy. He had just shared the most intense, earth-shattering orgasm of his life with a vampire. With Edward Cullen. A secret, born of hatred and impulse, was now a physical, undeniable truth, its evidence still slick on their skin and sticky on their tongues. A wave of something that felt terrifyingly like a thrill washed over him, followed swiftly by a cold dread. He felt Edward shift slightly beneath him, a minute adjustment of his limbs, and knew the vampire was just as aware, just as trapped in this silent, charged aftermath as he was.