My Immortal (Seven Deadly Sins #1)(38)
Author: Erin McCarthy

He studied me. "Perhaps she was faking her desire, as whores are wont to do."

I remembered her face, thrown back to the rain. "I do not believe that. And I… I want to understand… I want to feel that pleasure myself."

Bracing myself for laughter, for sneering criticism, for mockery, I straightened my spine and met the steady gaze of my husband. He did none of those. Instead he shifted me on his lap so that my thigh made contact with his arousal.

"If it is merely pleasure you seek, I can certainly give you that, Marie." His hand moved up my back, petting very lightly, very relaxed. "So what did you see between Rosa and myself that appealed to you ? "

I considered, then gave my answer. "That you seemed to be on equal footing."

"Your answer fascinates me." Damien brushed his lips over mine. "You are fascinating me."

Then he lifted his glass to my lips and tipped it. "Have a sip so that we may be on equal footing."

The liquid slid into my mouth, cool and hot at the same time, burning my throat and fanning out into my limbs like fiery fingers. I felt warmth most acutely between the thighs, and I shifted, anxious, uncomfortable, ready for whatever was to come next.

"Now take off your chemise, since I am not wearing a shirt, so we are further on equal footing."

I struggled out of my sleeping jacket, Damien not moving to assist me. When it was pooled around my waist, I took a deep breath. How to describe the anticipation? The realization that somehow, this time, it was completely different. My body had awakened, was clamoring for the attention of my husband.

When Damien’s mouth touched my lips, my neck, the top of my bosom, it generated a wholly different reaction than previous times. Whereas before I’d felt only fear, discomfort, and embarrassment, now my skin tingled, my ni**les beaded, my mouth went hot, my breath rapid. My hands found their way to Damien’s chest and pressed against his firm, warm flesh. The strength there excited me, intrigued me. I stroked all around and down even lower while he continued to administer his attentions to me for long and luxurious minutes.

Damien set me on my feet, and when he demanded I remove my shift, I did so with a shocking pride for the desire I saw in his eyes. I peeled my clothing right off, letting it drop to my ankles, and stood at excited attention while he took in my appearance, eyes rolling up and down.

"Since we are on equal footing, you must do to me as I do to you, wouldn’t you agree?" he asked as he removed his trousers.

I nodded in consent. I had never seen Damien completely without clothing, and the sight of him, standing in front of the windows, bathed in summer moonlight, limbs strong and sleek, manhood rising toward me, set me speechless. He was astonishingly handsome, and I felt a greedy pride, a vanity, a triumph that he was my husband.

On the bed together, Damien’s touch was slow and easy, as if we had no particular destination in mind, as if strolling along the lane and partaking of the view was as pleasurable as arriving. His mouth, his hands, his tongue, moved with agonizing slowness over me, caressing and teasing and pleasuring me in the most intimate of manners. My body succumbed to the assault most cheerfully, with a total surrender that astonished me. I was restless, eager, unfulfilled, suffering in my ecstasy, and when he did that which he had never done before, I came to the full and complete understanding of how pleasure can shatter and drown and drive all reason from your head.

Do you know that sensation, Angelique, when a man slides his tongue into that hot, eager space between your thighs? That is what I am talking about, that is the way a man can draw a woman down into his carnal oblivion, with an acute sensation so tight and furious that it catapults you face first into sin, where the only concern is physical fulfillment.

Perhaps I should not say this to you, even in a letter I shall never post. Perhaps I am, only because I want to shock you like I have shocked myself. This is further evidence of my moral decline, as is the very real and moist arousal I am experiencing fight now just from the memory of that night. I should feel shame, yet I am thinking of my actions then not with disgust, but with longing.

Equally wicked and yet so very titillating is the memory that after I had clawed myself back to reality, I went down with quite eager anticipation when Damien guided my head and asserted that it was my turn to express my support of equality.

You know, of course, what I did the following day, don’t you? You are cringing, Angelique, wishing I had remembered myself. But the plain and unembellished truth is that! liked what my husband had done to me well enough that I went back to his chamber the next night for more. Not once was conception of a child on my mind. No, I went simply for the sheer pleasure of it.

Damien smiled when he saw me pass into his chamber. "It is quite early. I just retired," he said.

"I’m accustomed to keeping early hours." Can you imagine that I stood there and lied so coolly, so easily?

He didn’t believe me, though. Damien laughed. "So you wanted to speak to me before you sleep? Perhaps you wish to discuss your wardrobe needs or the dinner menus ? "

I moved in front of him and his hand went into my hair, wrapping around and around with a possessiveness that I enjoyed. "No. I wanted to see if I might join you in your bed again this evening. That is, if it isn’t entirely too soon and my performance last night wasn’t too vexing."

He kissed my earlobe and whispered, "I do believe you are flirting with me, and I confess I find it arousing. Trust me, ma cherie, it is not too soon, and your performance was of a fine quality. You were very eager to explore, and open to instruction. I couldn’t ask for any more than that, and I do believe if you remove that shift, we can further your education."

That he did, that night, and the many that followed. Damien showed me that pleasure need not be found only in bed lying supine with a man in the position of domination. That as many ways as the body could shift and twist and bend, we could be joined. He showed me how very much might occur before the actual act of copulation, with skilled fingers, mouth, and tongue, and how delicious it all could be.

He even had a looking glass brought in to show me what I looked like astride his masculinity. It was a shocking, tantalizing image of myself, cheeks blooming with color, hair loose and wild, wet strands stuck to my forehead. My eyes were bright and feverish, skin pink with exertion, ni**les rosy and taut, my shoulders rolling back, thighs spread on either side of him.

"You are beautiful," he told me, catching my eye in the reflection of the glass. "Absolutely stunning."