“Remember what Mama said. No more self-loathing.” I take the sheet from him and carry it out to the bedroom. The fireplace is big, but the flames have burned low, so I have to stoke and feed them before they’re robust enough to accept the sheet. My nose wrinkles at the smell of burning cotton and my heart twinges at the wastefulness of it, but I remind myself that we have enough money to buy all the sheets we need. It doesn’t mean we should be careless about our possessions; it simply means we don’t have to worry. Which is an exquisite mercy.
Bustling into the bathroom again, I order my husband to get in the tub. He obeys meekly, and I admire the view of his beautifully rounded ass and powerful thighs as he climbs in. He soaps up a cloth and begins washing himself listlessly. The events of last night have stolen some of his confidence, and it hurts me to see him like this, defeated by what he has done, ashamed of what he is.
There’s one way that I might be able to cheer him up.
While he’s busy washing face and beard, I remove my clothing and step into the large bathtub with him. As I sit down between his legs, facing him, my bare skin brushes his, and he jumps with surprise.
“Ha!Istartledyou!” I crow, delighted. “Now we’re even.”
He wipes the soap off his face and gives me a shadow of his usual grin. “I didn’t realize it was a competition.”
“You may be scarier,” I say, taking the cloth from him and squeezing it over my breasts until they’re glossy with soapy water. “I still have a few advantages you don’t possess.”
“Sybil.” Uncertainty trembles in his deep voice. “After everything?”
I move closer to him in the bath, putting my legs over his thighs and clasping his shoulders. “This is your body now, in every sense of the word. You are the one and only Beresford. You will redeem the name, and when you are ready, you will use this form to satisfy your insatiable wife.”
His chest heaves with emotion, and I can’t help touching him, skimming my fingers over the expanse of his skin. He’s so beautiful like this, shining wet, powerful yet docile, a subdued giant who stirs at my touch. His arms close around me, and in the strength of their hold I sense that he’s reawakening to his own willful passion, his untamable need for me. Delighted, I lace my arms around his neck.
When I kiss him, he tastes like coppery blood, vanilla soap, and salt. But there’s his usual flavor as well, the delicious, warm flavor that belongs only to his mouth, the scent that is his alone.
We don’t fuck in the bath, but he touches me all over, his fingers sliding against the wet curves of my body. I devour him with my hands—the sweeping width of his back, the bones of his wrists, the curves of his shoulders. I wash his hair for him, and when we’re both clean, we climb out of the tub and dry each other with fluffy towels.
Neither of us make a plan, but somehow we both have the same idea—to spread towels on the rug in front of our fireplace and stretch out there naked, our bodies tangled up, bare and warm. He lies beneath me, and I kneel over him, teasing my pussy with his cock until I’m slippery enough to take all of him.
He watches my cunt slide down on his cock with nothing less than worship in his eyes. He lets me control the pace, the angle. As I ride him, with my fingers massaging my clit and my thighs working me up and down on his length, I imagine that this act is cleansing us both—washing away the bitter aftertaste of his deceit, rinsing away the results of my foolishness in the woods. I pretend that it’s all over, that it doesn’t matter, that none of it can touch us now.
Beresford’s eyes are glazing over, his flush heightened by the oncoming orgasm. But he grabs my waist and stops me, lifting me off him. “You’re not going to be able to come like that, are you?”
I’ve been trying to get there, but he’s right—even though it’s pleasurable, this position doesn’t provide enough friction or penetration for me. “It’s easier when you’re on top.”
“So you’re saying you want me to fuck you into the rug,” he growls.
I give him a wicked grin. “Nowthere’sthe man I married.”
There is nothing better than being scooped up by a powerful man, as if you weigh next to nothing, and being thrown around like a willing doll. Next thing I know, I’m on my back amid the soft towels on the plush rug, and Beresford’s bulk is above me, blocking out everything else. I love this view of him, this sensation of my vulnerability to his strength, the delicious violence of his need to be inside my body. He knows the brutality I crave. I want to be fucked within an inch of my life until I orgasm in spite of myself, because I can’t help it.
He pushes my leg farther out of his way and wedges his cock inside me again. Roughly, grunting with every thrust, he fucks me.
“No more doors between us.” Words punctuate each thrust. “No more keys or locks.”
“No more secrets,” I gasp out. “Please, harder, harder—hold me down, Beresford, please!”
With a snarl he gathers my wrists right above my head and pins them there while he thrusts with punishing speed. The heat builds at my core, higher, higher, buzzing at my center, nearly there—
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I whimper. “Yes, yes, yes—”
“Fucking come,” he commands, and I shriek softly as my body obeys him. My husband curses as his orgasm joins mine. He crushes me under him just the way I need him to, flattens himself against my cunt in a deep press so that every bit of his cum flows into me. That pulsing fullness, matching the flutters of my own pleasure, is perfection. It’s everything I will ever need, because having him like this, being joined with him this way, means that he and I are synchronized. At peace.
“I love you,” I breathe. “I love the fuck out of you, you gorgeous soul.”
His breath hitches at my choice of words, and with a half laugh, half sob he kisses me. In that kiss I sense his gratitude, his relief, and his love.
We don’t emerge from our room for the rest of the day. Instead we talk, we snuggle, we fuck, and we rest. Near dinnertime, Beresford rings for a servant and requests that trays be brought up and left outside our door when the food is ready.
While we eat dinner, he reveals his plan. Around midnight, he’ll carry most of the bodies outside. Then he’ll transform into the wolf and dig a pit where he can bury them, along with the skeleton.
“I would like to keep two of the bodies,” he says. “One was a thief and a musician. The other was the old gardener. I need their knowledge.”
