My Immortal (17 page)

There was something about the position, the night air, the knowledge that she was completely naked and he was fully clothed that had her exhilarated, nervous but excited, the experience new and fascinating.

“You have a beautiful body,” he whispered, running his lips over her nipple, hands on her thighs.

It was on her lips to say something apologetic, disparaging, to critique her thighs, her breasts, that appalling stomach doink that wouldn’t go away no matter how many sit-ups she sweated through, but she stopped herself. If he thought she was beautiful for whatever reason, in whatever way, she was going to accept it, appreciate it, revel in it. “Thank you.” She put her hands on his shoulders and tossed her hair back away from her face. “Right now I feel beautiful sitting here like this.”

And she did. She felt a little anxious, a tinge embarrassed, but also aroused, pleased with herself. Anticipating what he was going to do.

What he did was torture her breasts. He licked and sucked and tugged, first one, then the other, until Marley was gasping, tossing her head back, digging her fingers into his thick hair. “Damien.”

It wasn’t enough, it was too much. She inched her legs apart, shifted restlessly on his T-shirt, shivering when the breeze drifted over her slick nipples. “I…” She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but it was probably going to be some form of begging.

Damien cut her off, his mouth trailing over her shoulder, his fingers sliding inside her. “Shh. Don’t say anything. Just feel.”

That she could do.

He moved over her, everywhere, tasting her flesh, teasing and coaxing her into delicious sighs of delight with his fingers deep inside her, stroking confidently. The single-mindedness with which he approached her pleasure made her feel decadent, indulged, selfish, like she was entitled to his attention, deserved his expert loving. But as he plucked and stroked and moved over her, and the minutes drew out, and her body burned with a fierce wet tremor, she wanted more, she wanted to own all of him, to take that intensity he was turning on her and pull it inside her. She wanted to see Damien, to feel him, to touch his naked flesh like he touched hers, and to know the sensation of him deep inside her body, thrusting out that ache she burned with. When he moved down onto his knees, between her legs, when he pushed them apart, far and wide, she was ready and reaching for his jeans.

“You sit on the bench,” she said. “And I’ll be on top.” He had her too close to the edge, and she knew that an orgasm brought about by his fingers wasn’t going to be enough this time. She wanted everything.

As she grappled with the front of his jeans, trying to find the zipper pull, she suddenly realized that he was shifting out of her reach. “Get back here,” she said with a laugh, feeling a little bossy and demanding herself for a change.

“Marley, we can’t do that on the boat, so don’t tempt me.”

“Will we capsize?” She knew nothing about boating. His erection was hot beneath her fingers, even with the barrier of his jeans. Her mouth went dry in anticipation. She was willing to risk a dunking in the swamp for a chance at that.

Damien grabbed her hand, stilled it. “It’s possible. But more importantly I don’t have a condom.”

Well, that was an ugly dose of reality. One she didn’t want to face. “You’re not going to catch anything from me, I promise. And it’s the wrong time of the month for getting pregnant.”

“Marley.”

There was a world of meaning in that serious, soft-spoken but steely voice of his. Marley sighed, feeling a flush rush up her cheeks. No wild sex on a boat for her. “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Here I just got done telling you how much I want a baby and then I’m suggesting we skip birth control. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m not some obsessive woman trying to con you into coughing up your sperm. I just was being greedy…I don’t want to wait to have sex with you.”

“We are having sex, or we were a minute ago.”

Marley twisted her fingers in his hair and tugged a little to emphasize her frustration, bumping his thigh with her knee. “No, that was me sitting here stark naked, while you are totally clothed and giving me pleasure.”

“I don’t have a shirt on.” He brushed the edge of the T-shirt she was sitting on as he hunched down between her legs.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why are we talking about this?” He tried to slide his thumb down between her thighs, over her clitoris, intending to push in, take his way again.

Marley shifted away. “No.”

“No?” His voice took on an edge of annoyance, of authority. “I say yes. Let me in, Marley.”

“Okay,” she agreed, heart pounding, an idea forming in her head. Let him think he was in charge, but she was going to give back to him whether he liked it or not. She was being greedy for once, that was true—that was what the night was all about, and she had decided she wanted to pleasure him like he was her. “Sit on the other bench and I’ll stand in front of you. This position is too awkward for you.”

He sucked in his breath. “Very good suggestion,
ma cherie
. Just watch your balance when you stand.”

When Damien was seated on the other bench, she carefully stood and closed the distance between them. His mouth was almost level with her pelvis and he wasted no time in wrapping his arm around her waist, drawing her flush against him, and kissing her, dusting light feathery touches all around her pubis, high, low, random presses of heat against her overstimulated body.

It was distracting, and she allowed herself a moment of indulgence while his tongue traipsed over her swollen flesh. It felt so damn good, her standing position bringing her closer, tighter to him, his hands on her backside, the carnality and intimacy appealing. Her low moan scattered out over the water, hands digging briefly into his thick hair, and she burst with a quick, tight orgasm. Wanting more, wanting him, she didn’t even let him finish stroking her through the last tremors before she quickly dropped down to her knees, taking him by surprise.

“Where are you going?” Damien tried to pull her back up, but Marley resisted, reaching for his pants. “You didn’t even finish…I was only getting started with you,” he said.

Ignoring that, she undid his button, his zipper, while he made a growling sound low in his throat.

“Marley. Don’t try it.”

“I don’t mean what I suggested before. Don’t worry about the condom. I just want to…” She pulled him out of his jeans and closed her eyes at the feeling of all that rock solid heat. “I just want to taste you a little.”

“No.” He hooked his hand under her chin and tilted her head upward. She couldn’t really read his expression in the dark, but he shook his head firmly. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” Marley was already stroking him, the fascinating feeling of him growing even harder under her touch eradicating the discomfort of kneeling in the boat.

“No.” Now he was holding her forehead, preventing her from bending over, his other hand working its way over her breast, trying to distract her attention away from him.

Marley got angry. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” If he could give it, he could take it. This was not going to be charity orgasms for Marley. This was both of them doing and sharing together.

Yanking away from his hold, she shifted and slid her mouth over him before he could stop her again, taking him deep. Damien moaned, trying to pull back, his voice rough and tortured. “Marley…I don’t let women…not since…”

His thighs were tense around her shoulders, his stomach muscles clenched, his breathing tight and quick. Even without the rest of the sentence, she thought she understood what he was saying. That he hadn’t let a woman do this since his wife had died. That it was an intimate act he had denied himself. That she could give him that, be the first in a long time, aroused her and renewed her determination.

“You need to stop,” he said, but he had stopped fighting, was no longer shoving at her, attempting to pull away.

As she moved slowly up and down the length of him, his fingers wrapped around and around in her hair, like he was going to jerk her head right off him with the slightest provocation. But she wasn’t going to stop, was intending to keep on going, for him, for her, for the freedom they both needed to reach. Marley slid back, flicked her tongue over the tip of him, tasting his hot, salty flesh.

“Marley.” It was a warning, his fingers tugging harder.

He was going to dig in, find his willpower, set her away. She could sense it, so she took him deep, sucking in the hollows of her cheeks and opening her throat, gripping his jeans, rocking him in and out. It had been a long time since she’d done this, longer than she wanted to reflect on, and in the past, she’d always felt that oral sex obligation. He did her, she had to reciprocate, it was only polite and the right thing to do, but honestly, the quicker the better. It was never awful, per se, but she’d never taken any personal pleasure from it.

This was different, a whole new experience. When Damien tensed, when his breath came out in strangled little grunts, when his fingers yanked violently in her hair, she felt pride in his pleasure, felt his reaction drive her own, spurring her on, making her more aggressive, eager, aroused, driving her motions more frantically, which circled back around to arouse him even more all over again, until they were both gasping.

“Marley.”

He’d given in, she could hear it, in the raw way he spoke her voice, with no warning, no threat, with only a desperate sort of passion, a vulnerability that tripped a feeling of triumph in her. “Yes?” she asked, lifting her head, testing him, knowing he’d groan at the loss, glad when he did. Before he could react further, she went down again, covering him, rushing her thumbs along the underside of his testicles.

It was instinct she was going on, the need to gauge his different reactions, find the angle, the motion, the combination that did to him what he did to her with his tongue. She didn’t have the technical experience, but she was good at listening. It was what she’d spent her whole life doing.

This position, the fingers, her hair sliding over his thighs, her rapid in and out, seemed to hit the jackpot.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he said, gripping her head, thrusting her harder onto him.

He had a point. It felt pretty damn good to her too. Marley let him take over the rhythm, let him fill her rough and frantic, the control she normally saw from Damien nowhere in evidence.

She knew when he was going to come, felt his body tense, his testicles tighten, felt his last thrust, then his feral yank back so he could explode outside of her. It was a courtesy she didn’t appreciate and Marley didn’t let him go, followed him back, tightened her hold on his pants.

“No, damn it,” he said.

But Damien was already pulsing into her, his hot liquid bursting into her mouth, over her tongue, as she held on, eyes closed, reveling in the feeling that she had done that, given that to him. And when he pulled back, she swallowed when she didn’t have to, just because. Because it wasn’t the expected thing to do, because he wouldn’t think that Marley Turner would, and because she wanted him to see that she had enjoyed it too.

Damien expelled his breath, relaxed his thighs. With slightly trembling hands, he cupped her cheeks. “You didn’t have to do that. Any of that.”

“I wanted to.” Marley shifted in the boat, her knees suddenly making it known that it was painful to be pressed into dry wood. She was stiff, her own tense muscles finally relaxing, but she couldn’t have cared less. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d popped out her kneecap in the process, she wouldn’t have stopped. That had been hot.

Damien reached out, lifted her up by the armpits, and she smiled at him, stretching her legs a little, anticipating a healthy dose of appreciation, praise.

But he just wiped his forearm over his sweaty brow and shook his head. “Damn. I need a drink.”

Marley waited for him to say more, but he didn’t, and she cautiously sat on the bench across from him, her confidence fizzling. He tucked everything away, zipped back up. Her own nudity became instantly awkward, and she bent over, her breasts brushing her knees, and retrieved her T-shirt and pulled it on.

It was harder to be casual about putting on underwear in a rocking boat, but Damien didn’t seem to notice her jerky movements, and it was too dark for him to see the red stain of embarrassment she could feel on her cheeks.

Why did she always do this, let this dissolve into awkward insecurities? Why couldn’t she unglue her mouth and say something, tease him, kiss him?

She didn’t know why, only that she remained silent, groping around for her shorts, her sandals, staring out at the shadowed trees as she slid her shorts on, trying to lift her butt no more than was absolutely necessary to get the damn things on.

Damien turned on the motor and they cut back through the swamp, Marley shivering from the cool air, from the way he turned his bare back to her, his shoulders taut and tense in the moonlight.

When they docked, she said, “Don’t forget your shirt,” just to say something.

“Thanks.” He just picked it up, threw it over his shoulder, stepped onto shore, and turned to give her a hand out of the boat.

Marley took it, knowing her palms were clammy, and tried to move past him without touching his skin. His hand slid away from hers. This was awful. She had pushed it, and she had ruined it. Whatever it had been.

“You go on in,” he said. “I’m going to have a smoke. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave her a brief, distracted smile, then left her at the edge of the garden.

She watched him walk away. Just stood there and watched his back as he left, retreated, without any of the words or touches or intimacy she wanted, craved. God, she’d been a fool. She could never have sex simply for the sake of sex. That wasn’t her, and she would never have freedom, that independence she craved so desperately, until she came to terms with who she really was.

Marley went into the
maison principale
and up to bed, with the scent of him still on her skin, her clothes, in her mouth, with her body still moist from want, and her heart sick with desire for what she could never have.