Chapter Thirty-Four #2
The throbbing erection in my pants tells me that yes, yes, it would be.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” I tell her. She wanted to be the death of me, once. And now she’s succeeded. At this rate, I’m going to die from wanting her.
I take a washcloth from a tray and soak it in the warm water. Then I lather it with soap until it’s covered in delicate bubbles.
I take a deep breath before running it over her body.
I can do this.
I swipe the cloth across her skin, focusing first on her arms and shoulders. “It would be easier if you’d stop that.” I feel her begging for me to rub the cloth on her breasts, to dip it under the surface of the water and rub it between her legs.
Fuck. Fuck, I want that too, and so the feeling reverberates between us, and it’s like I’m already doing it even though my hands are nowhere near any of the forbidden places. I lean forward, gripping the side of the tub for balance.
Her lips part, and her eyes are soft and inviting. She looks so lovely and erotic there against the walls of the bath.
“Nope,” I say, and I drop the cloth into the water. I grab a pitcher from the stand and fill it, then I pour it gently over her hair. I stand and move behind her so that I can work her hair into a lather.
It’s safer back here. If I kneel down, I can’t see her body. I can almost forget that she’s naked and begging for me, and all I have to do is—
Stop it, I tell myself. Well, less myself and more my dick. It’s straining within the silk fabric of my pants, rubbing a droplet of my need for her around. Thank the gods that one of my great-great-grandparents changed the house color to black.
Although there’s only one person here to see if I make a mess of my pants, and I have a feeling she would enjoy it.
I lather the soap into her hair, washing out the sweat and grime and blood. I massage her scalp as I work her hair clean, and she moans softly.
I feel the sound directly in my cock.
Gently, slowly, I dip my hands beneath the surface and push her body forward, trying to ignore the way her ass feels under my hands, trying to forget the memory of pulling her towards me and tasting her.
I keep one hand on her neck as I dip her head back into the water, rinsing the suds from her hair.
She looks up at me, her face full of bliss. “Kiss me,” she begs, her voice clearer now than earlier.
I tilt my head down and plant a soft kiss on her forehead.
“No,” she groans. “More.” She tries to lift her arm up to pull me to her, and it nearly breaks the surface.
“Not long now,” I tell her.
She splashes the water with her fingertips in frustration.
“Believe me, I know how you feel.”
I turn my attention back to bathing her. I push her back by her hips until she’s sitting against the wall of the tub once more, and then I draw her dark, wet hair over her chest like a curtain.
She makes a pouty sound, but I ignore her. I retrieve the cloth from the surface and wipe it over her arms, her legs, and finally her stomach. As I clean the inside of her bellybutton, she thrusts her hips upwards to force my hand down, and I feel the motion echo in my own hips.
“Mm,” I grunt as it nearly doubles me over the tub. She’s begging me with her feelings to clean her.
“Please,” she says.
It would be unfair to her to get her in the bath and leave her dirty. It’s for this reason that I allow myself two quick swipes of the cloth over her breasts, pinching the interior of my thigh with my other hand to keep myself from losing control.
Then, before I can think about it, I part her legs and clean between them. I turn my head to the side so I can’t see it. I know if I see it, I’m going to give in. The sounds she makes as I touch her are nearly enough on their own.
“You too,” she says. Her hand breaks the surface—finally—but she can’t lift it beyond it. But I can feel what she wants. She wants me to join her, and I’m powerless to fight it any longer.
I set the cloth aside and stand next to the tub. Her eyes track my movement, and she manages to tilt her head towards me. She watches, breathless, as I pull my shirt from my body. Her hands twitch beneath the surface as I untie the laces of my breeches.
The look she gives me when she sees me, naked and throbbing hard for her, makes my mouth water.
I don’t join her in the tub. The water is tinged red with her blood.
Instead, I lift her out of it, holding her sideways against my chest so that none of our sensitive places are touching.
Then I carry her to the natural bath. I place her seated upright on a smooth shelf of rock while I bathe myself.
She watches hungrily as I wash my hair and body, straining to touch me. “Ronan, get over here,” she pleads. She’s almost able to push herself up now.
I sink beneath the surface, needing a moment without her eyes on me to calm me down. It doesn’t help. When I reemerge, she’s pushed herself away from the rock wall.
Fuck it, I can’t wait any longer.
“Close enough,” I say, and I splash through the water, pulling her into my arms.
Her mouth responds to my hungry, claiming kiss, but that’s about all that does.
She moans and weakly thrashes her little fist where it’s pressed against my chest in frustration.
“That’s better than it was,” I say to her encouragingly, lifting her fist to my mouth and kissing it. “By the time we’re upstairs, you’ll be ready. Wait and see.”
I carry her from the pool and set her down on a chair. Her legs still can’t support their own weight, but she can mostly sit up now as I dry her off. I dry myself as well, but I don’t bother to put the clothes the servants have left us on us, which makes her happy.
I pick her up again, but this time to hold her facing me, letting her rest the soft folds between her legs on my belly. I feel the skin there slicken as I kiss her again, carrying her up the private staircase to my bed chambers.
She doesn’t regain her motion by the time I set her on the bed, but she’s close.
She writhes against the dark, velvety fabric of the comforter as I peel it back to help her into the sheets.
The fire crackles in the fireplace, but the sheets are cool, and by the time I climb into bed with her, she’s shivering.
I pull her onto me, rubbing her arms to warm her. Her hand drifts up my chest, reaching for my jaw, and I bend down and kiss her the way she wants. The way she’s been begging me to.
Her body responds now, her legs spreading to rub herself against me. I moan as I pull her up, taking her mouth with my hands in her damp hair. She breaks the kiss, panting and kissing my jaw.
She’s really moving now, and it’s driving me even wilder than the anticipation of it did.
She lowers herself to my neck and then my chest, and I tug on her to stop her. If she takes me in her mouth now, I’ll finish there, and I don’t want to finish yet. “You don’t need to—” I start, but she presses a kiss off-center to the left side of my chest.
“I do need to,” she says. Her voice is clear and warm now, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it, and I can feel something like sadness coming from her.
“Sylvie?” I ask, but she nudges my arm aside so she can reach the side of my body.
My scar. The scar her father gave me.
My heart hammers in my chest as she approaches it. She runs her fingertips along the shining white length of it, and then—with painstaking slowness—she presses a kiss to it.
I choke. Heat rises up my back into my neck and into my face, springing tears to my eyes. I fight them back, swallowing hard, trying to hide the feeling. I jerk my head to the side and squeeze my eyes shut.
Gods, I’m ashamed. I have this beautiful woman, this woman that I’m absolutely insane about, in my bed, and I’m about to fucking cry—
She reaches for me, taking my face in her hands. Then she presses kisses to my eyelashes, to the corner of my eyes, and fuck, I can’t hold on—
I collapse into her, the tears wrenching themselves from me.
The loneliness, the guilt, the regret. All of the terrible things I’ve done, all of the lives I’ve taken, all of the times I’ve felt sick with the shame, the times I’ve hated myself, the times I’ve wished I wasn’t here.
Standing on the cliff, feeling the blade coming for me, wanting it to come.
The selfishness of wanting her, the fear of losing her.
All of it comes pouring out, dissolving into her, melting away into her perfect comfort and understanding, her kindness and forgiveness, the balm my soul needs to rest.
I love her. I’ve known it for a while, but I haven’t been able to fully say the words, even to myself. But now, here, the feeling unleashes itself from within me. I’m coming undone, and I don’t even care.
I’m in love with her.
I let the feeling consume me, let it drive away the darkness, let it shine its incandescent glow into the recesses of my mind, the shadowy, secret places I’ve kept for myself alone.
And then, with her beautiful face hovering above me, with the flickering firelight dancing in her eyes, kissing her skin with warmth and heat, I feel the echo of it.
I feel my love echoed in her heart.
I kiss her, sighing my confession onto her lips.
Then I lose myself completely.