Chapter 143

Iris

“Bath?” Arthur suggests once we’re alone in his—our—room.

I nod, and Arthur moves into the en-suite bathroom. A moment later, I hear the water running as he fills the oversized tub.

When I follow him, he’s adding bath oil to the steaming water, the scent of lavender filling the air. He turns to me, his eyes darkening when he sees me standing there.

“May I?” he asks, pointing at my shirt.

I lift my arms in answer, and he slowly pulls the fabric up and over my head before tossing it aside. His hands trace down my bare arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. I reach for the buttons of his shirt next, undoing them one by one, revealing his chest inch by inch.

But as Arthur slowly undresses me, my mind wanders back to those awful comments I read last week. “Mom bod at 26”… Is that how I look? My stomach definitely isn’t as flat as it was before Miles, my hips wider, my breasts not quite as perky.

As if sensing my discomfort—maybe it’s because I’ve subconsciously wrapped my arms around my midriff—Arthur drops to his knees in front of me, his hands spanning my waist. He leans forward and presses his lips to my stomach, just above my navel where the skin is softest, marked with faint silver stretch marks from carrying Miles.

I shiver lightly as his lips trail lower, to the curve of my hip. Then lower still, toward the apex of my thighs. Arthur’s fingers gently dip into the flesh of my thighs, massaging lightly first in the center, then moving around to my ass. I can’t help the soft moan that escapes me as he cups my there, gently probing with his fingers.

His touch instantly melts away my insecurities. How can I feel anything but beautiful when he looks at me like that? When he touches me like he’s touching me right now?

I tug him back to his feet, my hands working at his belt buckle. “The water’s going to get cold,” I whisper, although that’s not really my concern. I just need him. Now.

We finish undressing each other, my pants and his joining the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. When we’re both fully nude, he steps into the tub first, testing the temperature, then offers his hand to help me in.

The water is perfect—hot but not scalding, scented with lavender and patchouli. When I sink down into it, my sore muscles from moving are quickly soothed.

We sit facing each other, legs intertwined, the water lapping at our chests. For a while, we just soak, enjoying the warmth and each other’s presence. Arthur reaches for a washcloth, soaps it up, and begins gently washing my shoulders, my arms, my back. I shut my eyes and tilt my head back against the porcelain, just enjoying the sensations.

Once he’s finished, I take the cloth from him and return the favor, running it over his broad chest, his shoulders, the strong column of his neck. As my hands move lower, beneath the water, Arthur’s breathing grows heavier. His eyes, fixed on mine now, darken further. I let the washcloth drift away, forgotten, as my fingers find his cock under the water, already hard and waiting.

“Iris,” he groans as I stroke him slowly, teasingly.

I smirk, enjoying the power I have in this moment as I swirl my index finger around the head of his member. It throbs lightly as if reaching for my palm. “Yes, Arthur?”

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hands find my waist, and he lifts me effortlessly, pulling me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. The position brings the tip of his cock right against my entrance, and I gasp at the contact.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs, his lips against my neck.

“Yes,” I breathe, rolling my hips to create more friction. “Please, Arthur.”

He guides me down onto him slowly, both of us moaning as he fills me completely. Water sloshes over the sides of the tub as I begin to move, rising and falling on his length. His hands grip my hips, helping to guide my movements, while his mouth finds my breast, tongue circling my nipple.

“Fuck,” I gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of me. “Right there.”

He responds by angling his hips to hit that same spot again and again, driving me closer to the edge with each thrust. One of his hands slides between us, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing in tight circles.

The dual stimulation is overwhelming. I feel my orgasm building rapidly, like a tightening in my low belly, or perhaps like a rubber band about to snap. Arthur must sense how close I am because he increases the pressure on my clit, his other hand guiding my hips in a faster rhythm.

“Come for me, Iris,” he commands.

As if his words have a magic command in them, I obey immediately. The tension pulls taut, then instantly breaks, and the pleasure is so profound that I can’t control myself. I cry out his name, voice echoing off the tiles, my back arching, my body clenching around his cock as I ride out the orgasm.

Before I’ve even come down from the high, Arthur is standing and lifting me with him. Water cascades off our bodies as he steps out of the tub, somehow managing to keep me impaled on his length the entire time. He sits me on the edge of the vanity, and I yelp slightly at the sudden cold of the marble against my backside.

“Again,” he growls, thrusting into me with renewed vigor. The position allows him to go deeper, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer.

My hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into me. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through my body, quickly building toward another peak. Arthur’s movements grow more erratic, a sign that he’s getting close too.

“Fuck, Iris, you feel so good,” he pants against my neck. “So tight, so wet for me.”

His words send another jolt of arousal through me. I love when he talks like this—raw, unfiltered, saying exactly what he’s thinking. It makes me feel desired, even powerful in a strange sort of way.

“I want to feel you come again,” he continues, his breath hot against my ear. “Come on my cock, Iris. Let me feel you.”

His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing in tight circles that match the rhythm of his thrusts. The other hand comes around to gently stroke across my backside, thumb gently pressing against my darkest hole—just enough to make me gasp and tighten with pleasure.

The combination is too much. I feel myself tightening around him again, my second orgasm crashing over me with even more intensity than the first.

“Arthur!” I cry out as my body shudders. “What was—”

Before I can finish, he grins impishly and lifts his hand—the one that was stroking my clit—and slips his thumb into my mouth. Gasping, I swirl my tongue around the tip, tasting myself as my eyes lock onto his. He groans, his thrusts becoming desperate and uncoordinated as he watches me taste the evidence of my own pleasure.

“Inside,” I gasp around his finger. “I want to feel you.”

That’s all the permission he needs. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside of me and comes with a guttural growl that might be my name, although I’m not entirely sure. I feel him pulsing, shuddering, and then finally going still.

We stay like that for some time, still joined, foreheads pressed together, both trying to catch our breath before we attempt to move. The bathroom floor is soaked, water everywhere from the tub. It’s going to be quite the mess to clean up, but right now, I could honestly care less.

Eventually, Arthur pulls back slightly. He presses a tender, open-mouthed kiss to my lips, then my neck, then my shoulder before he pulls out and helps me down from the vanity. We clean up quickly after that, both eager to get to bed. The tub is drained, towels are thrown on the floor to soak up the worst of the water, and fresh ones are used to dry ourselves off.

By the time we collapse into bed, my body feels pleasantly empty and light. Arthur pulls me close, my back to his chest, his arm tucked around my waist. His breathing evens out quickly, and I follow soon after.

I’m back at my exhibition, but the gallery is empty except for me and Veronica. She’s wearing that red gown, the one that caught the light so beautifully when she played the piano.

Except now, as she moves toward me, I notice something is… wrong. The hem of her dress is wet, dripping, with…

Blood.

“Today they adore you, tomorrow they’re on to the next shiny thing,” she whispers, circling me like a snake. The diamonds on her dress cut my skin, and I gasp, stumbling backwards—only to be shoved back toward her by invisible hands. Cameras flash around us, and she strikes a pose, then another. Elegant. Poised. Statuesque.

“The star-crossed lovers reunited is compelling now,” she murmurs, grabbing my hand, spinning me, then dipping me below her as the cameras flash. Her diamonds cut my wrists and palms.

Before I can catch my breath, she pulls me upright. “But what happens when that story gets old? People will start to wonder if there might be a better match out there for him…”

I shake my head as she forcefully spins me away. “No. No, that’s not—”

“It’s true, Iris.” Arthur’s voice this time. Low, husky… mocking. He catches me mid-spin, and when I look up, he’s in a suit that’s red like the blood pooling on the floor around my feet. The blood on Veronica’s dress. The blood seeping from the deep slashes on my wrists and throat.

Arthur shoves me away, right into the crowd. The invisible hands pull at me, down, down into the blood. It’s deep, deeper than I imagined—an entire ocean of it.

“No. No—”

“Poor thing,” Veronica coos. She’s not looking at me. She’s looking at him.

They’re posing. Cameras flash. A crowd roars. A piano materializes behind them, and Arthur lifts her, placing her on the edge. He shoves her dress up around her hips, revealing a serpent’s tail instead of legs.

Just as the blood comes up to my chin, he leans over her and whispers, mouth brushing hers, “They’ve already forgotten her.”

The last thing I see before the blood engulfs me completely is Veronica’s snakelike tongue slipping into my mate’s mouth.