Chapter 26
“Ican’t… can’t deal with all this. It-it’s too much to bear.”
Not that I had expected her to, but Ophelia wasn’t taking the news well.
I couldn’t blame her. It was a lot to accept when the world as you knew it shattered before your eyes.
I’d had decades to simmer in the knowledge being foisted upon her head.
And while she was brilliant, I was asking her to believe in myths and legends when her life up to that point had been logistics and rationality.
“But you aren’t dealing with it alone,” I offered.
Ophelia looked at me with an expression of sorrow. For herself, surely, but also for the secret about my past I’d let slip. Such a sweet and empathetic girl.
She had asked about my involvement, and I mentioned my sister before realizing the words had escaped. Though it wasn’t pity in Ophelia’s sweet, honey-gold eyes. No, it was a gentle sympathy that made me want to melt into her gaze and welcome my doom.
I hadn’t mentioned my sister for so long.
So many years without saying her name, despite it being vengeance for her that carried me for as long as possible.
Endless sleepless nights, hiding bodies where they wouldn’t be found, the fathomless depths of blood on my hands… and no one to share her memory with.
But I didn’t want to linger on the agonies of my past when Ophelia’s life was being upended. My wounds had scarred over, and hers were fresh, raw and festering.
“Come here,” I said. She must have gone partially numb, as she stepped closer without argument. It made me miss the spark she usually fired back with. Ophelia barely grumbled to herself as I grasped her shoulders and steered her away from the kitchen and down the hall.
She had already questioned how I knew my way around the Ashcroft home, and I prayed she didn’t think of it again.
While yes, my prior knowledge stemmed from visits with Hunter, that had been years ago.
Not that I would be telling her how often I entered her home recently. She simply didn’t need to know.
Once inside the bathroom, I sat her on the lip of the tub before rolling up my sleeves and turning on the faucets. Her lips twisted into a minor frown, brows knitted together with concentration as she tracked the motion of my arms. I almost smirked, relishing the fact that she ogled me so often.
Warmth suffused the bathroom, and soft tendrils of steam rose from the water. Some of the tension from the kitchen conversation faded into the background as I focused on caring for my girl in the way she deserved.
She was lost in her inner turmoil, too distracted by her own thoughts to argue when I worked on removing her clothing.
It gave me time to stroke her soft skin and observe her at my leisure.
It was my first proper opportunity to look at her so closely—so freely.
I loved every inch I revealed, like opening a long-awaited present on Christmas morning.
There were tiny silver stretch marks on her hips, likely from the growth spurt that resulted in her mouthwatering curves.
She had freckles on every inch of her skin, though most of them were ghostly pale and hard to spot.
A tiny, dark birthmark decorated the stretch of skin beneath her bottom left rib, and I wanted to press my mouth to it.
I wanted to lick her stretch marks and spots until I’d memorized all of her with my tongue.
When my fingers stopped at the waistband of her underwear, she jolted. Her hands landed on mine, stopping me from finishing undressing her.
“Wait, I can—”
“Ophelia,” I sighed her name, feeling it burn the forges in my chest. “Let me take care of you. Please.”
Her bottom lip quivered, and something glistened in her eyes. But she turned her head and simply nodded. I bit my tongue as her simple cotton underwear came off. God, her cunt was so divine it took all my discipline not to bury my head between her thighs right now and feast.
A breathy moan slipped free as she lowered herself into the steaming water. The kind of sound I could play on repeat in my mind for the rest of my life.
Her petite hand caught my wrist when I stood. I met her large doe-eyes and parted lips. She looked like a wounded creature begging to be saved. As fucked up as I was, I knew I was the only one who could worship her back to health.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded.
A pleasant warmth rushed through me, and I smiled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She released my hand, and I reached for the buttons of my Oxford shirt.
Sinking back into the large clawfoot tub, she grasped the rim with white knuckles, attention rapt as I undressed.
Her breasts peaked on the water, teasing me with a sample of what hid beneath the surface.
And I didn’t hide my erection as I undressed to join her.
I wanted her to know that I desired her—always.
Ophelia scooted forward, making room for me to sit behind her.
A welcome pressure draped over us in the heady warmth of the bathroom.
Surrounded by steam and a charged atmosphere.
Neither of us spoke when I grabbed her favorite shampoo and began washing her hair.
Although she made the most distracting noises as I followed her usual washing routine.
My cock was as hard as steel by the time I grabbed the cloth to wash her body.
Her skin was hot from the water and from the tension rising in her blood. She circled her hips, mimicking the slow strokes of the soapy washcloth in my hand traveling down her body. Her back was flush with my chest, and each time she wiggled her soft ass ground into my cock, nearly torturous.
Then I dipped the cloth between her thighs, carefully washing at first. Not so subtly adding more pressure to the apex of her pussy as I did.
Eyes closed, head thrown back onto my chest, she sighed loudly as I applied more pressure to her clit.
Circling on and on until she was practically whimpering in my lap.
“Let me make you feel good, sweetheart,” I spoke into her neck. The heat of my breath made her erupt in goosebumps despite the scalding water embracing us.
“Ye-yes,” she stuttered.
A finger escaped from the cloth and slipped through her lower lips. I found a sticky wetness not from the water and groaned with satisfaction that I’d aroused her already.
“Are you going to take what I give you?”
“Yes, sir.” A second finger dipped into her, and her answer dragged into a coo. She shuddered around my fingers slowly plunging deeper into her cunt. Tight, wet heaven clenched around my digits, and my cock throbbed against her lower back.
She planted her feet on the bottom of the tub and kept her knees spread. One hand hugged my arm to her chest, right against the delicate swell of her breast as I finger-fucked her. Her other hand grasped the edge of the tub, hand almost shaking with the effort to keep herself upright.
I pumped my fingers into her at a medium pace.
Enough to build her up but not get her off.
As much as I wanted to sink my teeth into her, I was too focused on watching how her body reacted to my touch; the roll of her hips under the water, the ripple of her thighs tensing, her breasts flushed and heaving with her fast, shallow breaths.
She was mesmerizing to watch.
And the sounds coming from her as I slowly increased the intensity were animalistic and enchanting.
Ophelia was beautiful, and the moment felt beautiful. Like I was giving her a piece of myself and she was accepting it. And there was a trade in there as parts of her unraveled in my hands, opening her like a book for me to learn and savor.
I curled my fingers to stroke her g-spot and Ophelia shivered, releasing a deep moan. Then my thumb joined the party, strumming her clit while I played with her sensitive inner walls.
“Luther,” she whimpered. “Oh, God, Luther…”
I nipped at the spot beneath her ear that made her tremble. Her cunt fluttered around my fingers, and I increased my attention on her skin, licking, biting, sucking.
“Are you going to come for me?”
“I think—” her body began to seize. “Oh, oh, God—ah!”
“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me, aren’t you? Now, you’re going to give me everything you possibly can. I want it all.” Further praise spilled from my lips, and that was all it took.
My fingers curled and twisted inside her. Her swollen, throbbing clit surrendered to my furious circling. My mouth remained suctioned to that tender spot, sucking on her neck while forcing her to come on my hand.
Ophelia’s legs had a mind of their own, clamped around my hand yet twitching as she climaxed.
She came hard and fast, knocking my knuckles together with the strength of it.
I caressed her inner walls, dragging out the pleasure for as long as possible.
I kept going until she feebly swatted my hand away under the water and her legs collapsed.
“So good for me, perfect girl. I’m so proud of you.” If she weren’t so tired, eyes closed and panting, she might have preened.
After withdrawing my hand, I leaned back to quickly wash myself with the bar of soap. In case there was any lingering evidence of blood on my skin, I wouldn’t risk her seeing it now that she was finally starting to relax. I didn’t want to bring all that horror back to the forefront.
I pulled her in for a deep kiss before helping her out of the bath.
She was half-comatose as I dried her off.
A whispered giggle bubbled up when I rubbed her favorite lotion into her skin, almost as if she couldn’t believe it.
That didn’t stop me from going on to brush out her hair and relish the feeling of the blonde locks in my hands.
I wanted to spoil her rotten, and taking care of her needs was the easiest first step.
Once we’d padded down the hall to her room, she didn’t say a word as I rummaged through her wardrobe to find her something to sleep in. Though her lips twisted in an expression I couldn’t read, that didn’t stop me from plucking a comfortable pair of blue underwear from the drawer.
Once swimming in an oversized shirt, she slipped under her blankets. I had my boxers back on by then, debating if I should go or stay. When her hand shot out from under the blanket, leashing me to her side for the second time that night—tethering me to her.
“Stay.”
“As you wish.” And I settled under the covers behind her. It was half heaven and half hell when she snuggled closer, burying herself in my embrace.
Ophelia hummed sleepily before going silent. For a long time, I believed she had fallen asleep until her voice interrupted the comforting quiet of night.
“Tell me about your sister. Please.”
I stiffened as if hit on the head with a bowling ball.
“Or not, sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s… it’s alright.” With a deep, bolstering breath, I dug deep and pulled out memories covered with dust and aged around the edges. But in the center, there was my sister, as bright as when she was alive.
Ophelia waited, not moving or speaking until I was ready.
“Her name was Laura,” I said. Ophelia hummed contently as I voiced life to my sister’s memory once again.
“She was older than I. Outgoing and loud, she knew when to put me in my place when I needed it. Laura came to Kilbride on a scholarship for art. At the time, I was too young and foolish to understand how it happened. I thought her projects were all nonsense. But smarter people than me saw the beauty in her creativity. Only now, decades later, can I appreciate the artistic legacy she left behind.”
“Do you still have some of her artworks?”
“I do, yes.”
“I’d love to see them someday. If you’d let me.”
“I just might,” I conceded.
My hand lazily stroked Ophelia’s side under the covers. She wriggled closer, and I tightened my arm around her waist. Then I kissed her temple, feeling her body go lax as she fell asleep. “Laura would have loved you.”
But not as much as I do.