And I saw that he was right, that I looked like a women very well pleased with herself and her husband, and it made me shatter in ecstasy over him.
Chapter Eleven
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 ni**les 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 c**k 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 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 ni**les hardening, her breath quickening. Her desire 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 ni**les.
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 ni**les, 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 br**sts, tease her ni**les, 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 ni**les, 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.