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The Lady of Spain's Twilight Drabbles: #2
nom de plume

Drabble # 2 : The French Connection 

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of S. Meyer. I’m just giving them a joy ride.


“For Pete’s sake! Hold still, Bella!”


“What are you trying to do, Jake?”


“I’m trying to kiss you . . . if you’d just hold still for a freakin’ minute. Can you open your mouth for me, at least?”


Jake covered her lips with his own once again.


“Holy cow!” She sputtered as she pulled away from him. “Your tongue was in MY MOUTH!”


“I know!” Jake affirmed her comment.


“Why was your tongue in my mouth?” She looked at him, her chocolate brown eyes boring into his.


“Quil and I were talking about it, and I thought I would give it a try. Hey, don’t give me that look! It’s called French Kissing. Honey, do you think you could cooperate with me here?”


“But you had your tongue in my mouth. I already have a tongue of my own. I don’t need another one.”


“Trust me, okay? Now hold still and open your mouth.”


Bells let out a long sigh.


“Jeez, Bells, you are so stubborn. Don’t push me away, or it’s not gonna work.”


She was not convinced yet. “Why are you doing this? Just tell me why.”


 “I want you to feel as good as I do. You’ll like it, I promise”


“How do you know that?”


“I have good dreams, all right? Now let’s have another go . . .”


Jake pulled her closer and entwined his fingers in her long mahogany hair. He kissed her gently as she opened her mouth a little. Bells instinctively cupped the back of his head. He smoothed his tongue along her bottom lip—that lip that drove him crazy. She opened her mouth wider, and Jake slowly slipped his tongue between her parted lips. His tongue danced playfully with hers.


“Mmn . . .” she moaned, as the dancing continued. And then it became louder . . . “mmn . . .”


He pulled away for a minute. Her warm brown eyes nearly melted him on the spot.  “See . . . I told you so. C’est tres´ bien. Bien mieux, n’est-ce pas? Ce n’est pas assez. Encore beaucoup!”


Bells eagerly joined him again. He murmured, “Prenez votre temps.”


When they finally came up for air, Bells asked, “Why do they call this French Kissing?”


I guess because at first it seems like a foreign tongue. But when you get used to it—

Ooh, la, la! Trop chaud, mon petit!”


“Gosh, Jake, I didn’t know you spoke French.”


“Oui! But only with my tongue,” he smirked.



A/N: I had a hard time deciding on a title—French Kiss, Tongue in Check, Foreign Object, Speaking in Tongues, En Garde! Decisions, decisions.



“C’est tres´ bien. Bien mieux, n’est-ce pas?Ce n’est pas assez. Encore beaucoup! (It’s very good. Much better, isn’t it? It’s not enough. Some more, lots more!”)


“Prenez votre temps.” (Take your time)


“Trop chaud, mon petit!” (Too hot, my little one)









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