My Immortal (14 page)

I nodded in consent. I had never seen Damien completely without clothing, and the sight of him, standing in front of the windows, bathed in summer moonlight, limbs strong and sleek, manhood rising toward me, set me speechless. He was astonishingly handsome, and I felt a greedy pride, a vanity, a triumph that he was my husband.

On the bed together, Damien’s touch was slow and easy, as if we had no particular destination in mind, as if strolling along the lane and partaking of the view was as pleasurable as arriving. His mouth, his hands, his tongue, moved with agonizing slowness over me, caressing and teasing and pleasuring me in the most intimate of manners. My body succumbed to the assault most cheerfully, with a total surrender that astonished me. I was restless, eager, unfulfilled, suffering in my ecstasy, and when he did that which he had never done before, I came to the full and complete understanding of how pleasure can shatter and drown and drive all reason from your head.

Do you know that sensation, Angelique, when a man slides his tongue into that hot, eager space between your thighs? That is what I am talking about, that is the way a man can draw a woman down into his carnal oblivion, with an acute sensation so tight and furious that it catapults you face first into sin, where the only concern is physical fulfillment.

Perhaps I should not say this to you, even in a letter I shall never post. Perhaps I am, only because I want to shock you like I have shocked myself. This is further evidence of my moral decline, as is the very real and moist arousal I am experiencing right now just from the memory of that night. I should feel shame, yet I am thinking of my actions then not with disgust, but with longing.

Equally wicked and yet so very titillating is the memory that after I had clawed myself back to reality, I went down with quite eager anticipation when Damien guided my head and asserted that it was my turn to express my support of equality.

You know, of course, what I did the following day, don’t you? You are cringing, Angelique, wishing I had remembered myself. But the plain and unembellished truth is that I liked what my husband had done to me well enough that I went back to his chamber the next night for more. Not once
was conception of a child on my mind. No, I went simply for the sheer pleasure of it.

Damien smiled when he saw me pass into his chamber. “It is quite early. I just retired,” he said.

“I’m accustomed to keeping early hours.” Can you imagine that I stood there and lied so coolly, so easily?

He didn’t believe me, though. Damien laughed. “So you wanted to speak to me before you sleep? Perhaps you wish to discuss your wardrobe needs or the dinner menus?”

I moved in front of him and his hand went into my hair, wrapping around and around with a possessiveness that I enjoyed. “No. I wanted to see if I might join you in your bed again this evening. That is, if it isn’t entirely too soon and my performance last night wasn’t too vexing.”

He kissed my earlobe and whispered, “I do believe you are flirting with me, and I confess I find it arousing. Trust me,
ma cherie,
it is not too soon, and your performance was of a fine quality. You were very eager to explore, and open to instruction. I couldn’t ask for any more than that, and I do believe if you remove that shift, we can further your education.”

That he did, that night, and the many that followed. Damien showed me that pleasure need not be found only in bed lying supine with a man in the position of domination. That as many ways as the body could shift and twist and bend, we could be joined. He showed me how very much might occur before the actual act of copulation, with skilled fingers, mouth, and tongue, and how delicious it all could be.

He even had a looking glass brought in to show me what I looked like astride his masculinity. It was a shocking, tantalizing image of myself, cheeks blooming with color, hair loose and wild, wet strands stuck to my forehead. My eyes were bright and feverish, skin pink with exertion, nipples rosy and taut, my shoulders rolling back, thighs spread on either side of him.

“You are beautiful,” he told me, catching my eye in the reflection of the glass. “Absolutely stunning.”

And I saw that he was right, that I looked like a woman very well pleased with herself and her husband, and it made me shatter in ecstasy over him.

Damien knew that Marley was in the bathroom. He’d been waiting close to an hour for her to emerge, but the door stayed closed. It was dark outside, and when he walked around the perimeter, he moved in and out of the glow of light from the half dozen windows, listening for the sound of the shower. He didn’t hear anything, and he was starting to get concerned.

He had the feeling she’d spent the afternoon with the old woman, since he’d seen her returning to the house from that direction. God only knew what tales Marley had heard, what twisted falsehoods and exaggerated dramas she’d been entertained with. Marley didn’t strike him as the unpredictable or hysterical type, but he couldn’t imagine what she was doing in there, and the windows were all shielded with plantation shutters.

Except for the transom.

Damien eyed it. It was a good eight feet up, over the door. Striding back to the garden, he grabbed a rusty chair and hauled it over. He climbed up on it and looked in the window, which was dusty and warped, but not completely opaque. It gave him a muted view, but he could still see everything inside the bathroom.

What his roaming gaze landed on nearly made him fall off the chair. Marley was naked in the bathtub, her hair piled up on her head in a messy heap, her nipples breaking the surface of the water and deflating bubbles, her toes clenching the bottom rim of the deep soaker tub. She had pulled a little table over next to the tub and had put a bottle of water on it. There was something in her hand, a letter or a manuscript, and she was obviously reading it, her lips moving slightly.

Damien felt punched with desire, smacked in the chest, the gut, the groin, an erection springing up painfully and aggressively. Marley looked pink and lush and warm, and he wanted to slide his hands over her water-slick skin and dip his fingers into her moist inner thighs. He wanted to take his hard cock and shove it inside her, joining himself with her, watching her eyes roll back, listening to her cries of delight.

Her eyes always watched him too closely, filled with compassion, confusion, pleading. He wanted to rip those emotions out of her and replace them with hot, eager, selfish lust for him.

He couldn’t penetrate her, of course. To do that would be to completely lose himself in the Grigori curse, his servitude. But he could pleasure her. Could relieve Marley of all her worries, her burdens, for a few minutes.

Damien climbed down off the chair, shoved it aside, and reached for the doorknob.

It twisted open when he tried it.

Marley was feeling relaxed, languid, aroused. The bath water was warm and silky on her skin from the bath oil she had poured into it. The claw-foot tub was deep, and curved so that she could rest in the perfect reclining position. Damien hadn’t prepared her for the reality of the bathroom. He had made it sound like he’d thrown a water closet together out of a dilapidated old kitchen. In truth, it was a twenty-by-twenty luxury bath, complete with a four-head tiled shower, a dressing area, four sinks, and the impressive tub she was soaking in.

There were baskets with towels, trays full of bath beads and oils, bottles of water, and even a wine rack. If a house was only going to have one bathroom, this was the kind to have.

Pushing her sweaty hair back off her forehead, she took a sip of her water and sighed. She hadn’t felt this calm since before she’d gotten the e-mail from Lizzie over a week earlier. The water was lulling her, the scented candles that she’d lit on the counters soothing.

And the latest words written by Marie were intriguing her, and to be honest, arousing her. The newly awakened passion in the wife of the first Damien du Bourg leapt from the page, shocking Marley at the same time it stirred her own body to life. Thoughts of Marissabelle, of Damien’s party, of her own sense of sexual repression, together with the triumphant tone of Marie’s words, had Marley’s nipples hardening, her breath quickening. Her desire was climbing to levels she could not ignore, aching needs so acute she could no longer pretend they didn’t exist. They did, and she wanted to explore and appease them one by one.

If Damien made any sort of overture toward her, she would give in, embrace what Anna had spoken of—sex for the sheer pleasure of it. The idea had a smug sort of boldness to it as she rested naked in the warm tub. Setting down Marie’s letter, careful to place it on the table away from the water and cover it with the plastic bag, Marley closed her eyes and pushed the last bit of bubbles up to her chest, brushing them over her nipples.

The ache was unbearable. It had been so long since she’d had an orgasm, so long since she’d allowed herself any sort of release. Her palms moved again over her tight beaded nipples, and her thighs clenched against the answering echo from her swollen clitoris. Her skin felt slick, and it was easy, so easy to just shift her hand around, cup her breasts, tease her nipples, glide down through the warm water, and maneuver her middle finger into her curls.

She was shocked at herself, waiting for the self-consciousness to arrive, waiting for the desire to deflate, leaving her embarrassed and reaching for a towel. Masturbation had always felt shameful to her, and she had tread lightly around it, acted quickly in the dark when she couldn’t resist, then hurried to cover up what she had done, but this time those feelings weren’t arriving. She felt excited, her body felt good, and she explored for the first time with a slow curiosity, amazed at how a little shift here or there could change the whole tenor of intensity.

With her free hand she gripped the side of the tub so she could fully slide her finger inside herself, gasping at the sensation of cool in hot. Her breath was coming faster, and she picked up speed, in and out, discovering that the base of her finger could tease her clitoris, tripping off hot shocks of pleasure with each stroke.

Her back arching against the porcelain, Marley spread her knees farther and tested and teased, exploring and pleasing. Her body responded, tightened, ached, escalating swiftly and confidently, enjoying the attention. Breathing hard, she yanked her finger away, her thighs trembling, free hand white-knuckled on the tub. Amazing. She was already skirting the edge, and it felt good, too good to reach the end so quickly, and she wanted to draw it out a little, see how mindless she could make herself, see how desperate and aching she could become by her own touch, her own understanding of her body and desires.

She was reaching for her nipples, wanting to test them with squeezing and brushing, when she heard him.

“Don’t stop.”

Marley shrieked, her eyes flying open, legs jerking together, water sloshing over her chin. Damien was standing in the bathroom, four feet away from her, watching. His eyes were dark green, his jaw and shoulders rigid, a very obvious erection in his jeans.

Mortified, heart thumping wildly, Marley rolled onto her side, pressing her breasts and pelvis against the tub so he couldn’t see her body. “What the hell are you doing in here?” she said, her voice high and shrill and shaking with embarrassment.

He started walking toward her and Marley gripped the tub tighter, wishing more than anything she weren’t naked. With her right hand, she tried to gather bubbles to cover her butt. Maybe he hadn’t been able to tell what she’d been doing.

“I’m watching you touch yourself.”

Shit. “Well, stop it! That’s rude.” And humiliating, embarrassing, mortifying, Drano-drinking-suicide inspiring.

Damien picked up the little table and moved it out of the way. He crouched down next to her, face close, voice low and raspy. “No, I’m not going to leave because you look absolutely beautiful, and I have to watch you finish.”

Marley gasped. She must look like a hooked trout, bug-eyed and mouth gaping, but he was on crack if he thought she was going to just keep going with an audience. “I don’t think so.”

“You have a choice. Either you can finish, or I’ll do it for you.”

No response came to mind. Marley wanted to tell him to get the hell out, that neither of them was going to be finishing her, but the words never formed. It seemed like she should be completely yanked out of the mood, that her arousal should have cooled, frozen out by mortification. But she was naked, her inner thighs were still wet, her hot nipples were pressing against the cold smooth tub, and Damien du Bourg was staring at her with a healthy dose of lust in his eyes.

She was still turned on, no doubt about it. But that didn’t mean she could swallow that lump in her throat and give him an answer.

“You don’t have a preference?” he asked, running his finger over her bottom lip. He gave her a light kiss, the pressure teasing, the tip of his tongue flitting in and out, before he pulled back. Marley gave a sigh of disappointment.

“If you can’t, then I’ll choose for you.” He pushed on her shoulder, rolling her back into the water, the limp bubbles sloshing over her belly, clinging to her pubic hair. Marley grabbed the side with her right arm so she wouldn’t entirely lose her balance and look like a rolling whale.

She tried to cover up, tried to fight panic, tried to shift so he couldn’t see everything, but Damien gripped her arm and lifted it so she was exposed to him. Her breath caught, and she ignored her hair when it won the fight against her hairclip and oozed down her neck and into the water.

The moment strolled on and on, the only sound in the room her ragged breathing, Damien’s steady breathing, the lapping of the water against the tub.

Then, still watching her, Damien took her hand and covered her middle finger with his mouth, burying her in the hotness, his tongue slipping and flicking along her skin. She shifted, startled, heat flooding her womb, wanting to pull away, wanting even more to stay. He took her now wet finger, his own over the top of it, and caressed around her nipple, down her belly, and without preamble, sank them both together into her moist body.

Instinctively, she clamped her legs closed. She couldn’t do this. It was too much, too arrogant, too defiant for her and her natural, cringing modesty. With a force borne of desperation, she managed to free her finger from under his and grip the edge of the tub. “No, Damien, I can’t.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when his tongue laved across her nipple, nearly making her leap out of the tub. The hot taste of desire mingled with embarrassment in her mouth, and she fought the panic, wrestled it aside, so she could enjoy the pleasure he was bringing to her. His finger worked inside her, stroking with just the right speed, just the right pressure, just the right attention given to her hard clitoris, while his mouth did delicious and skilled things to her breasts. He licked and sucked, bit and tugged, until she was moaning, throwing her head back, letting her eyes drag half shut.

“If you can’t, can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, not even hesitating. It was her choice, that was clear, and she was choosing to take what he was offering.

“Thank you,” he said, before his mouth covered her nipple again.

That made Marley smile, that he acted like she was doing something for him instead of vice versa. But her grin dissolved into a groan when he pressed his thumb inside her.

“Oh, God,” she said in utter delight, then was appalled at herself for using the name of the Lord in vain. Not just in vain, in sex. Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to back up, tried to move away, because this was wrong. It had to be wrong.

But his strong arms held her down as he leaned over her, his T-shirt brushing over her shoulder, his head bent to pleasure her breasts, his hair tickling her warm, sensitive flesh. He moved slowly, torturously, touching her everywhere, stroking and coaxing until she couldn’t remember why she shouldn’t do this, why she couldn’t embrace the feelings he was stoking in her.

The room was humid, the candles sending thin ribbons of smoke up because she hadn’t trimmed the wicks, their flames casting a flickering light over Damien’s face, over his stern jawbone, his straight nose, moist lips. A drop of water clung to his chin and she reached out, swiped it off, amazed at how gorgeous he was, how perfectly masculine, hard and fierce. Her gesture caught his attention, and he turned from her breasts to give her a searing kiss, hot and reckless, while his finger stopped gliding politely and instead thrust hard and demanding inside her.

While his mouth controlled hers, his free hand lifted her leg, hooked it over the edge of the tub. It lifted her backside and belly automatically, spread her thighs farther for him, and Marley gasped, grabbing at his shoulder. She wanted to tell him how that pressure felt, how his touch had her insensible, how she felt each stroke in every inch of her body, but there were no words. Her mind was wrapped up in pleasure, foggy and drunk with desire, and she clenched her legs, forced herself higher to meet him, to make his thumb go deeper.

But he pulled it out entirely and Marley yelled an involuntary, “No! Don’t stop.”

His answer was to bend over, cup her slick backside with his wet hands, and bury his mouth in her. The first touch of his tongue sent her jerking in ecstasy, nearly bucking him off, but he held on. The second touch, where he swirled over her clitoris, made her shudder, and the third, when he sucked, shot her into an orgasm.

It was a good one, the kind that hung on and on, clinging like the moss outside the window, digging in and staying, long after it could have dropped away. Marley heard the sounds that came from her mouth, saw the top of Damien’s head, felt the hard tub against her shoulder, but it was through a haze, her mind separated from her body.

She swallowed hard as her cries petered off. Relaxing her legs and back, her butt automatically dropped down into the water. Damien got a faceful of water and she laughed, feeling exhilarated, bubbly, light-headed. “Sorry, my legs are like rubber. I couldn’t hold them anymore.”

He shook the droplets off and smiled at her. “That was worth getting a little wet.”

Not sure what to say, Marley pushed the heavy, moist hanks of hair off her forehead and smiled. She let her body float a little in the water as she watched him watch her. He was stroking her knee, looking lazy and content, his forearm resting on the edge of the tub.