My Immortal (Seven Deadly Sins #1)(20)
Author: Erin McCarthy

"Oh, Marie, don’t you understand? There is no God. There is only Earth and Hell, and sometimes the line between the two is very, very small."

Marley tumbled back onto the bed Damien pushed her toward. "Whoa." She giggled, staring up at the thick curtain hanging over the bed, dropping her mask to the floor. "You could have warned me."

"Why? So you could have protested?" Damien pulled her sandals off her feet.

That confused her a little. It seemed an odd place to start a seduction, at her feet. Regardless of his methods, she should say no, of course. There was Lizzie to consider. And Damien was more man than she could handle, she was positive.

But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to protest, stand up, leave this antique bed, this plantation house. It felt like she was dreaming anyway, like she was floating in a cloudy haze of sensations, and she was really aroused, really just nice and wet already, and it seemed like such a good idea for him to fill her up, ease that ache.

He dropped her sandals on the floor. Then he turned and pulled something out of the armoire. The room was dark, the only light the moonlight flooding in from the tall windows. A breeze danced over her, warm and humid.

Damien unfolded a sheet by snapping it crisply in the air, then letting it float down over her. "Close your eyes, Marley. Go to sleep."

"You want me to go to sleep?" That didn’t make any sense to her, and she shoved the sheet aside. It was too hot for that anyway.

"Yes, ma cherie, go to sleep."

"Oooh, is that French? Are you French, Damien? That’s sexy." She lay on her back, resting her hands on her stomach. She’d forgotten she was wearing the bikini. She should be embarrassed—she could only imagine how huge her thighs looked smashed down and spread out—but she felt too languid, too relaxed to care.

"Technically I’m Creole, of French descent. But you’re not closing your eyes."

"If I close my eyes, will you make love to me?" Marley was a little startled that her thoughts came out as actual words, but it was what she wanted after all. Damien was so appealing and she was so aroused.

But he shook his head. "I cannot. It wouldn’t be right." He stood at the bottom of the bed, arms crossed over his chest.

The rejection hurt her feelings, felt like a slap to her dignity, her femininity. "Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked… you have all these women to choose from… why would you choose me?" And when the tears dribbled out of her eyes, she didn’t bother to wipe them, just let them cascade down her cheeks in fat, quick drops.

It hurt. Everything hurt. No one loved her, Marley. They only loved what she did for them, loved that she was their housekeeper, cleaning up after them. Her mother, her father—who buried his head in the sand—Lizzie. No one cared about Marley except for how she cared about them.

"Oh, but I would choose you. I would choose you above any other woman." Damien climbed onto the bed, moving alongside her as the mattress adjusted to his weight, propping his head up with his arm. "But you’re flying high on drags right now and I will not take advantage of that. You would regret sleeping with me tomorrow."

Marley didn’t think she would regret that, honestly. Not when she felt the way she did, hot and bothered and fizzy inside. But she was surprised to hear she was on drugs. "I’m on drugs?"

"Yes, there was something in your drink." Damien pushed her hair back off her forehead. "I don’t think you had much, but enough to impair your judgment."

"Oh." That explained the way she felt, like she was drunk inside a never-ending orgasm, her body hot and excited, mind floating and wondrous. "I haven’t had sex in five years," she told him.

His eyebrow rose, but he gave no other reaction. "Is there a reason for that?"

"I’ve been waiting for Mr. Right. But he’s late. Very, very late." She started to giggle, but wasn’t really sure why. Most of the time it didn’t seem funny that she was still single. "I think he forgot to ask for directions, just like a man."

The curtain on the top of the bed looked soft and shiny. Marley stared at it hard. "My mom, she’s bipolar, you know. Between taking care of her, cooking and cleaning for my dad, working with my students, helping Lizzie with Sebastian… well, I haven’t had a lot of time to go looking for him either. And he just hasn’t rung my doorbell. Nobody rings the doorbell but the UPS man and the guys who try to sell me doorknocker polish and magazines."

"Doorknocker polish?" Damien frowned.

Marley undid the tie at the back of her neck. The strain of holding her br**sts up had the nylon strings digging deep into her flesh. It hurt, was giving her a headache. "I think Lizzie is bipolar too. But my mom, she’s always on the down side. She gets depressed to the point where she doesn’t bathe, won’t dress herself. Lizzie’s the opposite. She’s high, all this nervous energy, crazy optimism… she wrote that she was in love with you, but you don’t even remember her."

"It’s wonderful, Marley, how you take care of everyone. But you need to make sure you take care of yourself too."

"That’s what a vibrator is for—taking care of myself." Marley laughed again, pulling the bikini top off altogether. It was irritatingly tight, itchy and distracting.

Damien sat up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Now this had possibilities. Marley licked her lips, getting the last bits of cinnamon sugar from the corner.

But when Damien stripped his shirt off, revealing a very impressive, muscular chest, he took the shirt and laid it across her own bare chest, his eyes averted.

"I thought men liked big br**sts," she said, offended, even as she snuggled into the well-worn, soft, warm fabric of his shirt. It smelled like him, rich and strong.

Damien smiled, that charming, smooth smile she’d first noticed on him. "You have beautiful br**sts, Marley. So beautiful that if I look, I’ll want to touch."

"So touch." What was so hard about that for him to figure out?

But he made a sound of frustration. "It’s not that simple. Nothing is what you think it is, and to touch you, make love to you like I want to… it would be wrong. It would be a sin."

"A sin?" Marley frowned. Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was here, half naked, at a sex party, and this was a golden opportunity to throw over all her responsibilities, all her frustrations, all her reservations, and indulge in a night of pure sexual hedonism.

But the man she wanted to guide her through the freedom of debauchery was telling her that it would be a sin.