"If you see your sister, you will whisper delicately in my ear, and then I will handle it."
Marley said, "Fine," but couldn't quite prevent an eye roll. She wasn't totally clueless. She wasn't going to grab Lizzie by the hair. She could be discreet. Her whole life was about discretion, about not rocking the boat, about settling everyone back down.
Attention was not her friend. She much preferred to observe than to be observed.
Damien laughed softly, taking her hand and lacing her fingers through his. "That was quite a smart-ass look on your face. Now don't let go of me. You look very rich and decadent in that bikini and there are plenty of men here who'd love to eat you for dessert if you give them the slightest encouragement."
Marley just nodded, pondering his word choice. She kind of liked the sound of that. She wasn't overweight, she was decadent.
Damien pulled her into the living room, moving along the right wall, behind the sofas and tables, slowly around the perimeter of the room. There were people talking, the light from the candles bouncing off various pirate costumes ranging from crisp, just-out-of-the-bag discount-store quality to a very authentic, shabby-looking outfit on one man who had broad shoulders and the legs of a professional athlete. He glanced at her, his lips on the neck of his companion, and Marley shifted her gaze away.
The women were all dressed in the requisite bikini, some retro, some tiny scraps of nothing, others perky and colorful. Two women she saw were already out of their tops, both with men lavishing attention on their br**sts. The blonde was stuck to one dark-haired guy, the brunette actually had two men, one on each breast. Maybe it felt fabulous, but Marley thought it looked weird, just a little too mammalian for her tastes. So busy staring, just a little shocked, Marley ran into Damien's back.
He had stopped walking, and she grabbed his shoulder with her free hand to steady herself. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline high, and she felt like she had when she was sixteen and she'd let Lizzie talk her into sneaking into a cemetery. Like then, she knew now what she was doing was a bad idea, and the fear of discovery, of getting in trouble, of punishment, was added to the little jolt of excitement that she was doing something she shouldn't, something just a bit naughty.
She'd never, ever seen someone else engaging in this casual foreplay. She'd never even seen herself engaged in foreplay. As she clung to Damien's back, she marveled that everyone looked so relaxed, so unconcerned, so disinterested in what was going on around them. A quick count showed twelve people in the room, including the skinny guy who had escorted her in. He was talking to a very thin woman with dark hair, his hand on her knee, stroking.
"Looked at everyone?" Damien whispered over his shoulder.
"Yes. She's not here."
Damien moved out of the room, through the doorway with a transom window above it, into what looked like a library, the thick mahogany built-in bookcases filled with row upon row of books.
"That wasn't so bad," she whispered, glancing back over her shoulder. Inappropriate, but not entirely a p**n o flick.
Damien startled her by turning completely around and looking down at her. She was suddenly very aware all over again of how nearly naked she was. Why did the men get pirate outfits and she was stuck in a bikini? She was sure she could have really rocked a nineteenth-century ball gown. That would have been so much better.
She couldn't see his eyes, but his expression looked enigmatic in the candlelight. "Not bad enough for you, hmm?" he murmured. "That was only the reception room, Marley. No need to be disappointed."
"I wasn't disappointed!"
His finger landed on her mouth. "Shhh," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. "Don't disturb the guests."
And he stepped back to show her the inside of the library.
When Damien had been standing in front of her, she had only been able to see the bookshelves. But when he moved, she saw two couches and a desk in the cozy wood paneled room.
On the first couch was a thin woman with small br**sts lying sideways, a man between her thighs, her fingers in the back of his hair tugging and gripping, her teeth gritted against the pleasure.
The second couch had a more voluptuous woman reclining on it, her hands cupping her br**sts, a pirate on his knees in front of her. Marley couldn't see specifics of what he was doing, but the soft moans, the motion, the ripe tangy scent in the air told her very clearly what was going on.
She swallowed hard and shifted her gaze quickly, embarrassed to be watching, ashamed that she felt a little jolt of jealousy.
Turning didn't preserve Marley's modesty. Instead, she was given a full frontal of a third woman on the sturdy antique desk, sitting facing them, heels up on the wood, legs spread, arms resting on her knees, showing quite clearly what was hidden from view with the other two. Marley could see everything the woman had and then some, including the man's tongue sliding along her pink swollen flesh, up and down with slow, deliberate movements.
It was the most shocking thing she'd ever seen, the position haughty and erotic, showing a woman who was confident in what she wanted, and ready to receive it. Marley must have made an involuntary sound, because Damien's hand moved into place over her mouth again.
"This room is for pleasuring women," he whispered in her ear. "It is all about worshiping the female figure, coaxing ecstasy from her, going and going until she thinks she can't take anymore, licking and sliding and making love to her with your mouth until she is begging to be taken, begging for a man to complete her."
"Oh," she said very eloquently behind his hand, unable to rip her eyes off the woman on the desk. The woman's back was straight and proud, her eyes half closed, straight dark hair sliding in her face. Marley was taken aback, still amazed that people did these things together in anonymity with total strangers, but aside from that, this woman's confidence fascinated her. When had Marley ever sat straight, legs apart, and demanded she get what she wanted?
Never. She didn't even ask for what she wanted, sexually or otherwise, let alone demand it.
There was something very, very appealing about that.
"What are you thinking?" Damien murmured, hand stroking around her waist, thumb playing with the band at the top of her bikini bottoms.
His touch didn't feel sexual necessarily, just intimate, his breath hot on her cheek, his face close in the dreamy, muted candlelight, the room warm and small and filled with the soft sounds of passion.
"I was thinking that she looks like a queen… and that he is paying homage to her."
"That is a beautiful description. Are you picturing yourself as the queen?"