Marie did not come to dinner that night.
Marcello and Lorenzo sat at the table, but Lorenzo barely touched her food.
She only drank wine, glass after glass, staring at Marie's empty chair.
"I understand this is difficult for both of you," Marcello said carefully. "But you need to gather your thoughts. The fight is not over yet."
"She is being unreasonable," Lorenzo muttered. "Her indecision is... it hurts."
Marcello sipped his wine thoughtfully, then said in Italian, "A volte tutto ciò di cui una donna ha bisogno sono monete per la tasca e un osso per calmare il fuoco tra le cosce." *(Sometimes all a woman needs is coin for her pocket and a bone to soothe the fire between her thighs.)*
Lorenzo grabbed her napkin and threw it at him.
"Sei volgare!" she said sharply in Italian. *(You are crude!)*
Marcello caught the napkin with a grin and returned to his meal. But Lorenzo sat there, staring at Marie's empty chair, and despite the crudeness of Marcello's words, she thought about how they had danced around this for four months.
How the tension had built and built with no release except that one night when Marie had been drunk. Perhaps Marcello had a point.
Marie was having her evening bath, her eyes closed as she tried to relax the tension from her shoulders. The door opened quietly.
Lorenzo entered and gestured to the maids, even to Bess, to leave. Bess hesitated only a moment, then curtsied and departed. Over these months, she had come to understand that Marie loved Lorenzo.
Their closeness, their laughter, the way Marie glowed in his presence—it was undeniable. Marie's eyes remained closed, her head resting against the edge of the tub. Lorenzo removed her jacket, her shirt, her boots. She wore only the prosthetic now, a specially crafted piece that had taken months to perfect. At its core was a curved piece of silicone shaped to mimic the real thing for flexibility. Warm to the touch from being worn against her body. The craftsman who made it had been paid handsomely for his discretion and extraordinary skill. It had been designed to attach directly to Lorenzo's undergarments with leather straps, positioned precisely so that the base pressed firmly against her clit with every movement. The sensation kept her constantly, achingly aware of her arousal.
To any observer, it could easily pass for a real thing, the right length and girth, with realistic details carved into the leather like surface. Every time it moved, Lorenzo felt it, the pressure against her most sensitive place making her constantly, achingly aware of her arousal.
Marie shifted forward in the water, wondering where everyone had gone.
"Bess?"she called. Lorenzo slipped into the bath behind her. Marie gasped and spun around then froze when she saw Lorenzo there, shirtless, the water lapping at his chest. Before Marie could speak, Lorenzo pulled her close and kissed her deeply.
The kiss was full of all the tension from their argument, all the longing from four months of restraint. Marie's hands came up to push against Lorenzo's chest, but the gesture was weak, hesitant.
"What is the meaning of this?" Marie gasped when they broke apart. She suddenly realized Lorenzo was completely naked below the waist—or so she thought. She could feel something hard pressing against her thigh.
"Lorenzo, you should not—"
"Shh," Lorenzo murmured. She reached for the soap and began washing Marie's back with slow, deliberate strokes, pressing kisses to the back of her neck. Marie relaxed slightly, understanding. He was sadder than he had let on during their argument. This was his way of making peace.
Lorenzo's hands remained steady, gentle.
"This is quite cheeky," Marie said, though her voice lacked any real reproach. "I should fire everyone for letting you in like this."
"The bath could have been moved to your room," Lorenzo replied, her hands moving from Marie's back to her hips, then sliding up to the sensitive area just beneath her breasts. "You chose to stay within my reach."
Marie flinched and gasped at the touch. "It was not an invitation. I just needed space."
Lorenzo's voice turned more serious. "You hurt me when you said you would forget me and return to William."
Marie turned in the water to face Lorenzo fully. She saw the pain in those ocean-blue eyes and realized she had indeed struck a deep wound. She reached up, caressing his cheek.
"You hurt me by not finding ways to be with me. You went through all this trouble to claim me, but at the smallest obstacle, you let me slip away. How am I supposed to trust you?"
Lorenzo's gaze dropped to Marie's breasts, which floated just above the waterline. Marie looked impossibly beautiful, her ginger hair in a messy bun with damp strands clinging to her skin, her lips pink from the heat of the water, her skin flushed and glowing. She was ripe for the taking.
But Lorenzo wanted Marie to initiate it.
She had promised herself that much.
Marie noticed Lorenzo's invasive stare and sank deeper into the water, covering herself. Lorenzo leaned back in the bath, affecting a casual tone. "I see now why you spend hours bathing. Hot water is rather relaxing."
Marie arched an eyebrow and replied in Italian, "Sono ancora qui con te solo perché non voglio rovinare il mio bagno a causa di un'invasione italiana." *(I am still here with you only because I do not want to spoil my bath because of an Italian invasion.)*
Lorenzo smiled. "When did you learn to speak Italian this well?"
Marie looked away, her expression vulnerable. "I fell in love with an Italian man once. I foolishly thought we would live happily ever after, so I learned his language while I waited for him."
Lorenzo felt her clit throb and press harder against the prosthetic. She was losing patience, but Marie had not initiated anything, so she could not—would not—push.
"I am glad that Italian boy failed you," Lorenzo said with a boyish smile. "Because now you have a man at your mercy."
Marie felt that strange, insistent throbbing between her thighs again. The more she squeezed her legs together, the more it pulsed from within, demanding attention. Lorenzo suddenly grabbed Marie and pulled her forward into her lap. Marie gasped when she felt what she believed was Lorenzo's arousal pressing against her. It was harder than before. Longer. Thicker.
She found herself wondering if she would be able to take it all inside her, then immediately scolded herself for thinking such things.
Lorenzo kissed Marie's cheek. Marie pushed feebly against his chest—but the movement only made the hardness press more insistently against her, making her pussy clench with need.
"Are you not curious," Lorenzo whispered, "to know how I would feel inside you? This would confirm once and for all whether I betrayed my word that first night."
Marie's breath came faster. "You are getting bolder with me." "You started it when you threw yourself at me," Lorenzo countered.
"Is this payback?"Marie asked, a little irritated.
Lorenzo switched to Italian. "Sono disperato. Sarai via per così tanto tempo. Quando troverò una soluzione, la lussuria che provo per te mi avrà reso cieco. Lasciami averti." *(I am desperate. You will be gone for so long. By the time I find a solution, the lust I feel for you will have made me blind. Let me have you.)*
Marie was shocked. She had never heard Lorenzo speak so openly about desire. The words made her wet, made her throb in places she barely understood. She moved closer, biting her lip in hesitation, then kissed Lorenzo.
Lorenzo kissed back hungrily, pushing her tongue into Marie's mouth. Her hands found Marie's breasts, caressing and rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
At the same time, she positioned the prosthetic against Marie's entrance and rubbed it slowly against her folds.
Marie moaned, trembling with both fear and need. This time, she wanted Lorenzo inside her. She needed it. Lorenzo groaned, her hips grinding involuntarily against Marie. Then she slid one finger inside Marie's pussy. Marie tensed, remembering that terrible first night.
"Look at me," Lorenzo commanded gently. "Keep your eyes on me. Forget everything else."Marie locked eyes with Lorenzo as a second finger pushed inside.
Lorenzo bent her head and sucked Marie's breast into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the hardened nipple.
Marie moaned loudly, bringing her hand up to muffle the sound. Lorenzo bit Marie's nipple gently, then pushed a third finger inside, stretching her.
"That," Lorenzo said, her voice rough, "is what you felt that first night. Only my fingers. Never anything more."
She kissed all over Marie's neck while rubbing Marie's clit with her thumb. Marie's body convulsed as she came, crying out despite her attempts to stay quiet. As Marie trembled through her orgasm, she looked deep into Lorenzo's eyes and kissed him.
She believed him now—at least about that night.
Then Lorenzo wrapped her arms around Marie's waist and positioned the prosthetic at her entrance. Slowly, carefully, she began to push inside. Marie winced at the intrusion. It was so much bigger than fingers. Lorenzo kissed her deeply, one hand caressing her breast while the other stimulated her clit, distracting her from the discomfort.
Gradually, the whimpers of pain transformed into pants of pleasure as Marie's body adjusted and opened to accommodate Lorenzo's length.
"You are doing so well," Lorenzo murmured against Marie's lips. "So beautiful. So perfect."
She began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The prosthetic pressed and rubbed against Lorenzo's clit with every thrust, sending shocks of pleasure through her own body. She grunted, her rhythm becoming more chaotic, rougher.
Marie opened her thighs wider and wider, taking Lorenzo deeper with each thrust. The friction, the fullness, the way Lorenzo filled her completely, it was overwhelming.
"Lorenzo," Marie moaned, scratching her nails down his back. "Oh God—Lorenzo—"
Lorenzo's eyes flashed red. Her fangs pushed out of her gums, aching to pierce that pale throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting for control, and flipped their positions. Marie found herself bent forward, her hands gripping the edge of the tub for support, Lorenzo entering her from behind.
This new angle allowed Lorenzo to thrust harder, deeper. Marie's breasts swayed with each powerful movement, water splashing around them.
Unable to resist any longer, Lorenzo sank her fangs into Marie's shoulder. Marie grunted—not entirely in pain. There was something erotic about being marked this way, something that made her feel claimed and wanted as a woman.
Lorenzo grunted and pounded harder, pushing deeper and deeper, her fangs still embedded in Marie's flesh. She could taste blood, sweet and intoxicating, and it drove her wild.
Marie climaxed with a loud moan, her entire body shaking, her pussy clenching rhythmically around the prosthetic.
The pressure against Lorenzo's clit combined with Marie's sounds of pleasure sent Lorenzo over the edge.
She pulled her fangs free but kept thrusting, grinding, until her own orgasm crashed through her. She finished hard, her movements becoming sloppy and uncoordinated as waves of pleasure rolled through her body. Marie stayed on her knees, her back to Lorenzo, biting her swollen lips.
She felt weak, boneless, still shaking from the intensity of her release. Lorenzo leaned back against the tub, breathing hard.
She looked at the fresh bite mark on Marie's shoulder and felt a pang of self-hatred. The curse had made her hurt Marie again. And Marie did not even know what had truly bitten her.
"I hope I did not hurt you too much," Lorenzo said quietly, her voice breaking the silence. Marie could not turn to face him. Not yet. She stood on shaky legs, water streaming down her body, and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself.
When she finally turned, she saw Lorenzo looking more beautiful than ever after climaxing. His pupils were dilated, his lips redder and slightly swollen, his chest still heaving with exertion.
"I am fine," Marie said, her voice steadier than she felt. "And I... I approve of all that happened. But I would prefer such activities did not occur in the bath again. We do not want the castle to be labelled as indecent."
She left quickly, limping slightly. A thin trail of blood and fluid ran down her inner thigh—evidence of how thoroughly Lorenzo had stretched her, how completely she had been taken. Lorenzo remained in the cooling water, watching Marie leave, and smiled. For the first time in months—perhaps years—she felt truly happy.