“I could use a drink,” he said. “Keep an eye on the water.”
I nodded, pulled the lid from a glass jar of what looked like purple dust dotted with tiny dried flowers beside the tub, sniffed. Lavender and something slightly astringent. Eucalyptus, maybe. “Fancy some bath potpourri?” I called out.
“I’m not entirely sure what that is,” he said from the other room. “Although I’d prefer not to smell like a Parisian parfumerie.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I said, and scooped some of the salts and sprinkled them over the water. The smell was heavenly, a soothing balm that pushed thoughts of battle and blood out of my mind.
“This is the second time I’ve found you nearly asleep near water,” Ethan said. He’d taken off his shirt, his shoes, his belt. He wore only black trousers, the waistband framing the bricks of muscle across his abdomen, and just skirting the diagonal muscles that marked his hips.
I opened my eyes, took the glass of wine he offered, its color as pale as light. “Not asleep,” I said, taking a sip. “Just trying to be somewhere else.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Not away from you,” I clarified. “Just away from that.”
He nodded, brushed a lock of hair from my face. “There will be more questions, more demands. So let’s take tonight, Merit, just for ourselves. We may not have Paris, but we’ll at least have memories from our wedding night that don’t involve violence.”
“That sounds good.”
He turned off the water, then took my glass, setting both of them on the edge of the tub, then went to his knees in front of me.
“I’m afraid it’s too late for a proposal,” I said, swallowing hard against rising lust. I didn’t have to fight that feeling—not with my husband, not tonight. But the lust was fueled by exhaustion, and I didn’t want to rush this. Not our first time as husband and wife.
“It seems you have me on my knees, Sentinel,” he said, and ran his hands up one leg. My eyes closed instinctively, my head dropping back. I focused on the sensations of his hands on me, those long and skillful fingers provoking as they slipped, one inch at a time, up my thighs. He unclipped one stocking from the delicate lace garter that held it, skimmed the tips of his fingers against me.
I looked down at him. “I’d say you’re tending me again, but I’m not sure that’s accurate.”
He looked up at me, eyes silvered with emotions. “I have no tending in mind, Sentinel. I intend to make you desperate, and leave you breathless.”
As if on cue—as if he mastered my body as well as my House—the breath shuddered out of me.
He slipped down the second stocking, tossed it away as he had the first, and then slipped down the garter, fingers skimming my core. I had to reach out for balance as sensation threatened to topple me.
He rose again, took my hand, placed it against his heart. “This beats for you, eternally.”
I nodded, incapable of words, and slid my hand down his chest and abdomen, then found him rigid with arousal and want. He sucked in a breath.
“Who’s breathless now?” I asked.
His jaw clenched. “Maybe I should be on my knees again.”
I smiled, unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to the floor. The silk boxers he wore beneath did little to camouflage his excitement.
“Turn around,” he said, and I did, pulling my hair back from the bustier he hadn’t yet unfastened. He slipped one hook, then another, tossed the silk away, and pulled me hard against him, his hands roaming from ribs to breasts, cupping and teasing. He bent his head to my neck, teased with kisses and the hint of fangs that he well knew would drive me crazy.
A bit more silk, and we were naked.
“Water,” he said, and helped me into the pool-sized tub.
The water was just shy of scalding, my favorite kind of bath. Lavender steam rose around us, tiny purple buds floating on the fragrant surface.
He stepped in beside me, his long legs rippling the surface of the water. He’d rippled through my life. He sat down and pulled me toward him, long fingers gripped in my hair as he plundered my mouth, taking possession of body and soul. The water lapped my breasts, but I could hide nothing from him. He wouldn’t allow it.
Not that I had anything to hide. He knew me better than anyone, better than everyone. Every inch of my body, every mote of bravery and fear. I wouldn’t claim knowledge of every mote of Ethan’s four hundred years, but I knew the truth of him. I knew the dark and light, understood his secret symphony. He belonged to me as much as I belonged to him.
I settled my body atop his, harbored him, and felt his shuddering response.
“Forever,” he said, the fingers in my hair still strong, still refusing to let go, as if he still needed to bind me to him.
“Forever,” I whispered against his mouth, and rocked against him, the fragrant water lapping our bodies. The rhythm quickened, Ethan moving faster and deeper, teeth and tongue fighting a similar battle above the water, need quickening inside me like a tangible thing, the union of pleasure and pain and desire.
“Go,” he said, and my body responded to the command like a soldier. I gripped his shoulders as my body bowed, contracted, heat and electricity pulsing like a live connection.
“Yes,” he growled, his pride and satisfaction giving texture to the word, so it seemed to sharpen the air. “Forever,” he said as his body contracted, a sound of beautiful agony slipping from his lips.
“Forever,” I said, and put my hands on his cheeks, pressed a soft kiss to his closed eyes, his lips. “Forever.”
• • •
The wedding had been beautiful. The reception had been great fun, at least until chaos had taken her turn with it. Making love for the first time as husband and wife had been sublime.