Page 19 of Murder/Love

Jeremy

Up the stairs,I take her to my room. Pausing only to remove our clothes, I lift her again and I carry her through the door and into my private bathroom.

With its clawfoot tub and marble floor, the master bathroom is easily one of the most pleasing upgrades I’ve made to this old home. It maintains the integrity of the old architecture yet still has modern touches, like large bowl sinks and simple, elegant faucets. I liked the way the sinks and mirrors looked when I oversaw the renovation, but now I’m delighted to have a set. His andhers.

The way Carrie gave herself to the pleasure I offered and to the pleasure she gave me, I understand even more that she’s my dark angel, our souls entwined, never to part. I see in her an equal kind of energy. Her dormant desires drawn to life bring me more satisfaction than anythingelse.

I draw the bath water, keeping one hand around Carrie and using the other to work the faucet, casting a few drops of lavender and lemon oils in for a calming scent. They’d inspired thoughts of Carrie when I selected them, and the hopes that I’d share them with her are now coming to fruition. I bring us both into the water, hot enough to soothe aching muscles and draw out any tensions she mighthave.

“Is the temperature suitable?” I ask, pulling her tight against my chest and kissing the top of her head. I look at her eyes, eyelids drooping. I know we’re both tired after the torrential orgasms, post-dinner.

“Yes,” Carrie murmurs, barely above a whisper. She closes her eyes. Her face nuzzles against my chest.

She must hear my heartbeat, and it can’t lie to her about how her closeness makes mefeel.

I’m certain that Carrie’s still planning to escape. My morality is lacking, but not my judgment.

Carrie doesn’t have to trust me to want me, and she didn’t have to give herself to me. I searched her eyes for fear then and I didn’t see it. I bring my lips to the top of her hair and kiss her again, soft and gentle as I can manage. Despite how much I’ve had her already, I only want Carrie more. I didn’t initiate her mouth on my cock, and motives held no factor in the pleasure. I accept that it may be just a ploy to further gain my trust. If it is, it doesn’t dampen my desire for Carrie now, nor did itthen.

I stroke my fingers up and down her arms. The water will get cold if I don’t hurry about our business, but I breathe deep the scent of her and the scent of the oils. A serene stillness settles around my soul. I knew that she was brilliant from the moment I first spoke to her. I recognized a wise soul in a naive body. The potential for darkness in her mind called to be made real, but I recognized more in her. Carrie’s cleverness beckoned to shed light on the shadows of hermind.

I cling to the sensation of her light body so fragile against me. The skin, unloved, untouched before me. I pray to something only I know, no normal god would have me, and ache to be worthy of her desire. Let her want me, truly want me, and that’s how I’ll know that my life has been worth anything. She wiggles against my lap, adjusting as my cock rudely hardens at just the thought of something resembling a normal life withher.

The curve of her ass touches me, and despite how much I want her, I ignore that sensation. “May I bathe you?” My voice aches as it leaves me, words difficult to form with my ardent obsession.

Carrie’s eyes look up at mine and there’s no lie I can detect in them. Not fear, not longing. She is observing me, considering my question. Unlike the brute my body wants to be, I’m going to listen to her mouth rather than taste her lips with my tongue like I crave.

There’s a true wickedness in her with such a purity that it could bring me to my knees. More than anything, I ache for her to truly belong to me. I know that she could cast me out, flee from me, destroy me, and I’d sooner accept that fate than not have her. How I fell with her was to be determined, but that fall is as inevitable as the demise of those who wrongedher.

Finally, her perfect lips part to taunt me no longer in silence. “No one has ever bathed me, not since I was a child.” Carrie nods. “I think that would feel very calming. I’d likethat.”

A gentleman would accept this gift. I, however, want to beg for any scrap of knowledge about her that I can hold close in my heart. To know her more feels like to know myself, my obsession with her runs so deep. “I know I’ll enjoy it,” I say in a hushed tone, urging myself to relax my interrogative urges to keep the tranquility of the moment. But everything about Carrie challenges my self-control.

“What?” Carrie asks with a laugh. “I don’t believe you’ve never washed a woman. I’m sure people do it with those they didn’t whisk off to their dark, secret mansions.” She bites her lip and looks down. Something about my discomfort gave her a footing, and I want to explorethis.

I touch my hand to Carrie’s upper arm, careful not to squeeze her as hard as I’d like to. “I actually haven’t before. I’ve never wanted to,” I tell her. “Who bathed you as a child, your parents or your staff?”

I almost don’t recognize my voice. I’m bringing up thoughts of my own childhood, an area of my life that I rarely dwell on. Perhaps if I’d sought a therapist over these things, I wouldn’t be a murderer. But it is the knife that brought Carrie and I together…

Carrie’s mouth tenses. “Only my nanny, who deeply resented my existence. I wanted to be closer to her, more than my cold mother, but I can’t say I blame Zella for how she felt about my family.” Carrie shakes her head. “Tell me what happened to your family.”

I haven’t told Carrie that something did happen to my family. I have used this technique before — you ask a leading question to confirm something that you don’t already know. Yet, the way she leans closer to me and touches my face now…I don’t believe this tactic is ill-willed.

“Family is supposed to make you better.” I grab a bath sponge and body gel made of ivory shimmer that I bought, imagining it glistening on Carrie’s wet skin like it will now. I dip the sponge in the water and then wet it, and bring it up to her chest, washing off the remnants of our lust. “My family did not, however. That’s why I don’t see them as my family. They’re gone…” Fuck, I’m evading the question and I don’t mean to. “Carrie, I want to tell you. But I have to ask, do you really want toknow?”

Her hand on my face drops to my hand holding the sponge. Carrie squeezes my hand. “Yes, I do want to know. I didn’t want to talk about my parents, but I did. So now it’s your turn. That’s fair, right?” Her voice goes soft and I know that neither of us truly want to talk about our families. Yet, the gap between captive and partner can’t be bridged with rainbows and sunshine. We’re more nightmares, secrets, uncomfortable truths.

“My father killed my mother, and then himself. They were never like me, they didn’t care much for me, and my father planned to kill me too. But Carter’s stepmother had betrayed him, so my father killed himself before bothering to finish me off. I was about your age then, and Carter was my only friend. I considered him family.”

I’m telling her more than I planned to. Her hand squeezes mine, harder. Carrie’s touch weakens my resolve. How could I hold back? When Carrie would have everything I offer, how do I not pour everything out for her? “I had hoped you would meet Carter soon, if you decide to stay,” I growl the words, my aching need to have Carrie biting back against my resolve to becalm.

I expect her to pull back at the intense thrust in my voice, the beast refusing to be kept at bay. She doesn’t, but I feel I have to salve an unseen wound. “Carrie, I truly would never hurt you,” I tellher.

“The sponge is cold,” Carrie whispers.

It takes me a second to realize what she’s saying. I dip it back in the warm water.

Carrie turns around and pulls back her hair. “Wash my back, please.”

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