Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(82)

“You are naked in a bath with me,” he pointed out.

“True.” Penelope cocked her head. “But only because of the ritual. Unless this is how all Nvengarians bathe?”

“It will be so in our household. The Imperial Prince and Imperial Princess’s bath chamber will be installed as soon as we reach home.”

“Which we will never do if we do not complete the ritual,” Penelope reminded him.

Damien growled. The feral sound filled the room, and Penelope’s eyes widened.

She tried to run. She made it up the step to the edge of the bath before Damien caught her. She stifled her squeals of laughter as Damien swept Penelope from her feet and carried her to the pile of towels that could have dried a household of ten.

She peered up at him under water-spiked lashes as he laid her down, smiling as though she’d done something clever.

Damien could not resist. He flipped her over, earning another squeal, and slapped her backside gently once, twice, three times.

Penelope shrieked and put her hands over her pink buttocks. “What are you doing?”

“Chastising my naughty wife for disobedience.” Damien was so hard he knew he’d die if he didn’t make love to her immediately. He lowered himself to her and whispered into her ear. “Would you like me to do it again?”

Penelope swallowed then peered up at him, her face cherry red. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

Damien chuckled at the same time he wanted to groan. He was dying for her.

He sat back and lightly gave her five more swats, until Penelope was squirming and laughing. Then Damien rolled her to her back and at last slid inside her, where he belonged.



* * *



When Damien awoke a long time later, the room was pitch dark. Summer night air wafted through the open window but did little to cool, the room still hot from the bathwater.

Damien and Penelope lay in a nest of towels to which they’d returned for more lovemaking after at last getting themselves through the ritual. Damien’s hand tightened where it lay across Penelope’s abdomen, but she did not wake.

He recalled how she’d reached to rub the dripping sponge over his shoulders, her soft breasts brushing his chest as she murmured the words, “With this water, I cleanse you of past deeds, so that you may come clean to our marriage.”

The English translation did not have the same weight as the Nvengarian words, but Sasha had made the words palatable for an English miss to say.

Damien had repeated the line in his native language as he’d slowly drawn the sponge across Penelope’s shoulders and down her back. “With this washing, I cleanse you of any foulness of your past, making you spotless and shameless for my touch.” Definitely not the same thing, but he hadn’t wanted to shock Penelope.

Not that she’d been very shocked when he’d had his way with her after their bath. She’d become loose and pliable, rising willingly to him. Her blushes when she’d snuggled into his arms and asked him why she’d liked what they’d done had made him smile.

They’d shared the thick, overly sweet wine, pouring it into each other’s glasses, then switched glasses with each other several times in a bizarre part of the ritual that had them laughing.

“It is done because the husband and wife might try to poison each other,” Damien explained. “What better way to assassinate a man but to send a beautiful woman to wed him, complete with a vial of poison to pour into the wine during the betrothal rituals?”

Penelope looked horrified. “How awful.”

“Times have not much changed, unfortunately.”

“But you will put that all right.”

“You have great faith in me,” Damien had said.

“You will.” Penelope gave him a look of confidence that dissolved into a smile. “I promise I have not put anything into your wine.”

Damien gave her a wink, feeling more playful than he had in a long, long while. “Perhaps I have put an aphrodisiac in yours.”

“I do not believe we need one,” Penelope said in all seriousness.

Her shy look, coupled with the brazen smile hovering about her mouth had snapped Damien’s self-control a second time. He’d scooped her up, sending one goblet tumbling into the bath, tinting the water blood-red. Damien had carried Penelope back to the towels and commenced another furious round of lovemaking.

They’d taken each other in near madness, then drifted into soft, welcoming sleep, the towels draped across still-wet limbs. The candles around the bath had guttered and died, sending darkness over the room.

It took a few moments after Damien woke to realize he lay in complete darkness. The scent of Penelope filled his senses, her body nestling against his chest, Damien’s knee between her legs. The top of her head rested under his chin, her hair tickling his nose.

So this is contentment, Damien thought. He explored the unfamiliar feeling. His limbs were relaxed and limp, his mind at rest. He was not tired, yet not as alert and watchful as he usually was when awake. Damien ever existed in two states—numbing sleep, which he allowed himself only while being guarded; or wide awake and sharply focused on the world around him.

Damien had never been in this place of quietude, happy to be exactly where he was. He released a breath into the darkness, for the first time in his life welcoming the night as a friend. The darkness did not press him like a smothering blanket; it lay on him lightly, soft and kind.