xxvi.

HER SKIN WAS WHITE SILK WEAVED FROM clouds snatched from skies that were selfish, wanting the tufts of purity for only themselves. But somehow, a piece of the heavenly had found itself upon earth, in the form of Laurentine's skin—her soul, her heart, her mind.

Édouard Arsenault couldn't shake the image of her from his mind, such so she plagued him. Her nude form—like that of a goddess—was in the center of his mind, tugging at his self-control viciously—asking him to leave everything and go back to her, pin her back against that bed and forget that he had seen..

Fuck. How could he forget having seen such a thing? Her beautiful skin marred by such.. monstrosity.

He had kissed her core—the most sensitive part of her—delirious with the lust he felt for her, not knowing what he would see on the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. Circular brown burn marks—ten shades darker than her skin, the size of an index of his fingers, and uneven to touch—nestled on her skin, almost ruining it.

Still Laurentine remained.. untainted, somehow. Regardless of those marks on her, she seemed to Édouard to remain almost divine and untouched, making him doubt if he had even seen anything on her at all. But still, he couldn't shake the gripping fury and distress away from his mind. The blatant anger of somebody else touching her at all, let alone scarring her there—was animalistic to bear upon his resolve. He felt as though he would combust with the weight of it all, he felt as he would erupt in bits of flesh and bone and blood and even then, satisfaction wouldn't touch him—even when there was nothing of him left.

He was taking it on himself, as was his due. Laur was his wife, how could something like that have happened to her? How could he have let it happen somehow? How come he felt that it was his fault? It was his fault, even if he hadn't done the actual scarring on her. What of the pain he had given to her since he came into her life? What of all the times he had made her cry and had held her so harshly away that she—the epitome of beauty inside out, literal perfection of a woman—had come to doubt herself? How dare she undermine herself like that on account of a mere sick coward like him? How could he have been so oblivious to the pain she already carried with her and had acquired the audacity to give her more?

Fuck, that time when he spoke about his mother and sister's sufferings to her, and she had listened and offered a sympathetic ear and comforting eyes—fuck, all that time, she had been the one to have suffered the most.

Laur had been right. He was hurting her more than his father had ever hurt his mother. His father—that spineless piece of shit—would be so proud. For Édouard—his eldest son and heir—had outdone him in everything, hadn't he?

Édouard shouted out in an anger that seemed to tear through his chest as he viciously kicked a stone lying at the curb. He didn't know where he was. The sky had gotten dark, and he seemed to have been walking for miles.

Upon leaving his estate, and his wife in their bedroom, he had ignored everything else and had kept walking. Hours had passed and by the looks of the stars already blinking in the sky, and the crescent moon coyly illuminating a cloud that it hid behind in the deep purple canvas of the sky, it was already nighttime. It seemed to be around eight to eight-thirty. Édouard was rarely wrong when he forged the time out of just an inspection of the skies, it was something both him and his.. brother, could do. They had both treated it as a game when they had been younger, but since then it had morphed into a skill—perhaps the only such thing that the both of them shared.

Mindful of the time, but heedless of it anyway, he kept on forging ahead, his mind a crowded and terrible place to be as it held him hostage in its hold. He didn't know what to do. How could he live with himself if he didn't seek out the man who had hurt his wife like that? How could he just simply go on and ignore what he had seen on her? Why wouldn't she tell him who had done it? Should he have stayed and insisted that she tell him? Should he have gotten the answer out of her instead of letting her be?

But what did it mean when she would rather protect the man who had done that to her? She was an orphan, so it couldn't have been family—a drunken father, a cruel uncle or a mindless brother—but then.. who? Who had she given herself such so to, for them to have taken such advantage? Who could have dared done this? It couldn't be Georges Bizet—for even though that old fucker's name alone infuriated Édouard now, despite having never actually met him—Laur held the man in much esteem for him to have stooped so low. But then, could it be Charles Barbier? Hadn't that bastard insinuated physical relations that he had allegedly had with Laurentine? But she denied them, didn't she? Why would Laur lie to him about such a matter? But then again, she hadn't really been truthful about the present matter that was eating away at Édouard's brain and heart like a cannibal, had she?

Could there have been more men? The thought alone made him feel sick to his stomach. Rough, sly hands touching at her pure skin, Édouard wanted to tear those arms out of their sockets and shove them down their owners' throats.

It started raining then, thick cold droplets of water drenching him by the second, making his clothes stick to him. Dressed in only in his white shirt he had tugged back on before leaving, and the pants he had been wearing, he felt as though the ice of the water was only making his skin numb and not overpowering the sense of despair and fury that he felt simmering inside him. It made him more furious somehow, to understand that nothing was going to quell the battle raging inside him if he didn't quell it himself—if he didn't seek out the attackers and eliminate their presence himself.

Édouard didn't realize then when his feet had started carrying him back to the estate, for he saw the grandeur of it—a tall lavish display of glass windows gleaming with firelight and the towering estate surrounded by lush green darkened by the night—appear into view, growing bigger by the second before he approached the iron gates and was hastily let in by footmen.

The butler, Gaston, had hurriedly approached him in the grand foyer once Édouard had found himself out of the rain and inside the firelit warmth of his abode. A thick warm coat was being tugged on top of him as the butler spoke in exclamations and worry, words that did not even reach Édouard's senses regardless of being uttered so close into his ears.

He let the man adjust the coat on him—barely—before he sprinted towards the grand staircase, taking two stairs at a time until he reached the second floor, rounding the corridor and barging into the master bedroom, his room—the one he was to share with his wife.

She was there, standing in front of the vanity when he barged in. Dressed now in a modest yet shimmering blush silk robe—tied at her attractive waist—and her glowing blonde hair flowing down her back in shining waves, her glittering blue eyes caught him in the mirror as she let out a barely audible gasp, before spinning around to meet him head on.

"Édouard," She whispered, her bottom lip quivering slightly. There was an infusion of pink in the whites of her eyes, and the tip of her nose—as well as the highpoints of her face—too were touched with the pink. She had cried, that much was obvious.

Édouard approached her slowly, feeling as though he was intoxicated when he hadn't had anything to eat—let alone a drink.

"Édouard," Laur spoke again, feeling her hands shake. "I—I'm so sorry. For what happened—I truly am so sorry."

Anger tore through Édouard like a shard of glass jabbing at his insides—setting him on fire with the force of the slashes.

He found himself reaching for her, grabbing her waist and roughly pulling her flush against his chest—his desperation for her taking hold of him again.

"What the fuck are you apologizing for, Laur?" He growled, breathing heavily as she held onto him, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck as she let out a muffled sob.

"Huh? What in this goddamned fucking world are you apologizing to me for?"

He kissed her jaw as she tilted her head back, goosebumps cascading down her skin as she felt the relief of his proximity and latched onto it as though she needed it to breathe.

"You didn't come for dinner, Édouard," Laurentine spoke then, feeling a tear cascade down her cheek as she held her eyes tightly close, knowing that if he indeed decided he was hungry and parted with her, she wouldn't be able to separate.

She herself hadn't had dinner, for she had been too broken hearted to. Manon had understood, though Laur had presented a different excuse. Regardless, Laurentine had long lost her appetite, and her insides felt numb and.. blank.

"Fuck, dinner," He let out then, his hazel eyes hard in hers before he tightened his arm at the back of her waist and spun her instantly towards the bed, pushing her onto the mattress before getting on top of her and burying his face instantly in her neck.

He ripped at his shirt, and the buttons gave way as he tossed the material away, leaving his upper body bare in front of her. His fingers then tugged at the silken ribbon of her nightgown at her waist, making come loose as Laur's skin was instantly greeted with the cool yet warm air of the room.

But none of that was obvious to her anymore. The draperies in the room that she had been admiring even with a shattered heart in her chest a while ago, the beautiful furniture, the gorgeous painting of a king with fair skin and dark hair being crowned by angels that was painted elaborately upon the ceiling of the room—by the old owner of the estate two decades ago, for the man had been a painter at heart—all and none of these things mattered to her in the present moment.

All that mattered was Édouard, and that he had still come back to her even though now he knew that she was scarred and touched.

"Édouard," She gasped as he gripped under her thigh and yanked her close, the shoulders of her loose dressing gown dropped to her elbows, her body on full display save for her back.

She gasped again as she felt his mouth encase her bare breast, and she tangled the fingers of her right hand into his hair, holding his head as he sucked at her skin. His other hand pushed her thighs apart, before his mouth left her breast and started quickly placing kisses at her torso and travelling downwards.

Laurentine felt as though her pounding heart would not let her breathe properly—as though it had decided it was too elated and wrought in desperate blinding passion, and that breathing no longer mattered.

She felt herself pushed back, her back coming in contact with the bed as she felt the heat of her husband's mouth at the inside of her right thigh.

His lips pressed themselves against her ruined skin there, and Laurentine felt her eyes sting viciously as tears started dripping from the corners of her eyes.

Édouard kissed her ruined skin—carved in old cigar burns that refused to leave—multiple times, on both thighs, before his mouth touched her core and his tongue touched her clit, eliciting a sharp cry of pleasure from Laur's mouth as she grabbed Édouard's hair again.

He picked up his pace, as though he didn't care for her in that moment and only cared about getting what he wanted—as though she was merely food and he hadn't been fed in days, and all he cared for was his nourishment. The way he was devouring her core, it made Laurentine's body writhe in an immense pleasure that reduced her rational mind to mere.. mush.

"Oh Mon Dieu, Édouard," Laur cried out as she felt herself tether onto the edge, all of her desires flooding her body and threatening to burst out of her.

But Édouard Arsenault didn't stop, not at her cries of pleasure and warning, and not even as she shook underneath him tremendously with all of the force of her present convictions.

Laurentine erupted then, and Édouard remained attached to her core, feasting on her sweetness through her high as she panted and whimpered softly, her body calming down from having just tipped over the edge.

Édouard finished, and he brought himself upwards, placing kisses onto her body as he went, before yanking at his trousers and undoing them at his waist. He pushed them down and bent over her again, sliding an arm under her waist and pulling her closer to him. His hazel eyes burning into hers with an intense desire.

"I need you like I have needed nothing and no one else, Laur," He breathed, his jaw tight.

The tip of his exposed member touched Laurentine's delicate—and now freshly sensitive—center and she gasped slightly before shutting her eyes. Her hands were placed on his muscular chest, and at present she wanted nothing more than to know how having her husband inside her would feel. Would they become entirely one? Would she completely combust in the pleasure of it all?

She opened her eyes slowly, finding his penetrating hazel eyes still on her as he stood paused, as though waiting for her to say something.

"Does needing someone mean you must hurt them in the process as well?" Laur spoke then, her voice cracking. "Because I'm so scared—"

"Of what?" Édouard's face scrunched up in misery, "I will never hurt you. I know I keep doing it just the same—but fuck how do I make you understand that I'm trying so hard not to? The thought of you with someone else just—Goddamn it Laur, the thought of you with any other man breaks me, it fucking kills me a thousand times over."

"Those marks on you—those burns—," He shook his head, panting in his desperation and fury as he tried to rein it all in so as to not part with her.

Laurentine blinked away her tears, gently caressing his cheek with her thumb as she made her hand travel to his face.

"When I was twelve," She began then, her voice soft as she peered into her husband's eyes. "I was put in my last orphanage, taken away from the one I shared with Adelaide."

Édouard shut his eyes then as a horrified anguish spread over his features. He shook his head, and for a moment it felt to Laurentine as though he knew what she was going to say—as though the truth had really been so simple, and he blamed himself just because he hadn't spotted it before. But how could anyone have ever guessed? No. Laur did not blame Édouard for not thinking of it. She did not blame anyone for not guessing anything about her past. 

"No, fuck no," He let out, groaning.

"I was mistreated by the dean of the orphanage," Laur's eyes clouded with tears as she sniffed, continuing to caress Édouard's face with her heart bursting with the love she felt for him.

"No, Laur," Édouard uttered, his eyes red, his words of pained denial more to himself than to her.

"For two years, until I escaped with Colette when we were both fourteen," She continued gently. "I'm sorry, my love, I'm so sorry. I never intended to burden you with this. But you broke my heart—you said I was protecting the man who did this to me, you insinuated that I had something tender with him, when I spent every waking moment in those two years wishing for an escape. He shattered me entirely as a little girl and you suggested that I—" 

"Holy fuck Laur," Édouard shook his head, his voice breaking as his eyes glassed up. "Holy fuck. How do I—how can I ever beg for your forgiveness? How do I?"

"Don't," Laurentine shook her head then, holding his face with both her hands and pulling him close to her. "Don't ask for my forgiveness. Just—just let me love you, please."

"Laur—," He started, his voice choked, but she cut him off, desperately holding onto his face. 

"Édouard, I promise you, nobody has ever touched me like this," She uttered, shaking her head as she peered into his eyes through her tears. "I'm not—I'm not tainted, even if my skin is. I was only made to hurt for a sick enjoyment, but I was never—I was never intruded. Please, my love, let me love you."

"No," Édouard let out then, trying to pull away from her, his fair facial features twisted into an agony and self-hatred that pierced through Laur's heart. 

"I'm not worthy of your love. I'm a fucking senseless bastard—a coward—"

Laurentine brought his face to hers and kissed him, her soft lips crashing against his, and within a second he started ferociously kissing her back before she pulled away to breathe and touched her forehead to hers.

"Too bad I don't share any of your thoughts on that matter," She breathed, her eyes fixed in his. "Nor does my heart."

Édouard exhaled a breath tightly, his nostrils flaring as he took charge then, grabbing her waist tighter and lining his member underneath her as he pushed into her, making her cry out as she wrapped her arms around him.

He paused then, letting her adjust to his length as she breathed shakily, feeling part of his mighty form inside her. With his hand on her back, he caressed her skin and held her form protectively to his own.

Édouard kissed her shoulder then. "I'm sorry, shit. I need you, Laur, I need you madly. But if you tell me to stop, I will damn well stop."

"And I need you to have me," Laurentine managed through pain in her core that was translating slowly but surely into a tight pleasure taking hold of her soul as well as her body.

"Even if that means you never stop."

Édouard kissed the nape of her neck, before gently pushing her to lay on the bed as thrusted inside of her and she moaned softly, still holding onto him as though he was her lifeline.

He groaned with the feeling of being inside of her, his senses in tune with all of hers, her body underneath him—melding with his as though she was made for just him.

"Damn, Laur," He uttered, continuing his slow thrusts inside of her, dipped his face to her chest and placed desperate kisses against her beating heart.

"You're—you're fucking mine," He managed, letting his heart take control of his tongue for once in his life as he lifted his face to meet her eyes.

"You belong to me, and me alone. Do you understand that? Do you understand my absolute madness for you?"

Laurentine couldn't form words—her ability to move her mouth diminished by the blinding pleasure she was feeling escalate through every sensitive nerve in her body at his thrusts. So she merely looked at him with her glittering blue eyes, and hoped her heart would form the words and her eyes would display them to him.

He kissed her again, his tongue dominating hers before she broke away from the kiss, arched her back and threw her head back against the bed in the pleasure that she was feeling. Édouard buried his face in her chest again, taking her breast into his mouth and sucking and kissing her skin.

"I will never let anyone hurt you—nobody will ever touch you again, I swear that on my life," He spoke out loud against her skin, making sure that she heard the promise.

Laurentine brought her face forwards, her arm wrapped around his neck whilst she held the side of his face with one hand. She placed a kiss on his forehead, feeling his moist and warm skin and bits of his curly hair stuck to his forehead under her lips.

He continued on thrusting his pace getting quicker before it got slower, his jaw tight as he started nearing the edge just as she did. His hold on her waist tightened as they came together, both their highs crashing blissfully and tides settling into gentle waves as they breathed and panted against each other, still holding onto each other.

Laur couldn't name everything she was feeling, and she was confident that a name for the same hadn't yet been invented. Her heart was full to the brim—nay, it was spilling over into ribcage and drenching her other organs with a warm pooling thick liquid.

She watched with glittering eyes as Édouard shifted his weight to one elbow, before collapsing with his back to the bed and his eyes on the heavenly painted ceiling, panting as his chest rose and fell with speed.

Laur watched him, before she felt her own breathing settle, then she sat herself upright and covered herself up to her chest with the duvet, for her dressing gown had long since slipped in a pool on the floor. She made to get off the bed, gently trying to shift to the edge as she felt her core ache with a slight pain with each exertion. She did her best to not disturb her husband—or at least she thought she did—when her elbow was grabbed hold of, and she turned her head to see him looking at her, his head raised off the bed.

"Where are you going?" He asked, concern and confusion in a mix upon his features.

"I want to run a bath," Laur spoke softly, shrugging a shoulder gently. "I'm in slight pain, and I think a hot bath will help me."

Édouard blinked, a thought crossing his eyes before he nodded in determination. Then he jumped off the bed, pulling his trousers up and leaving them undone and loose at his waist, as he made his way round to her side.

Then before she could even begin to predict what he would do, Édouard put an arm underneath her legs on the bed and gathered them into his hold, before placing an arm at her back and picking her up off the bed, the duvet slipping off of her and falling on the bed, leaving her entirely naked in his arms.

She wrapped an arm around his neck to support herself.

"Édouard, what are you doing?" She asked, wary of having him close to her knowing that she was definitely bleeding a little.

He spun on his feet and began carrying her to the exquisite bathroom of their master bedroom—a room of its own entirely encased in white marbled flooring and a sparkling crystal chandelier hanging above the spacious elaborate porcelain bathtub in the center. The sinks were far towards the right lined against the wall, and beside those were the toilets, hidden behind an intricate glass sectioning—a glass door gilded with golden.

Édouard buried his face in the nape of her skin, breathing against her skin and inhaling her scent, before he glanced down at her against him before lifting his head back up again, his jaw tight.

"Have I told you how fucking mesmerizing you are?"

"Édouard, please don't bother yourself," Laur insisted, her heart fluttering, "Go to sleep, you must be so tired. I can manage. I shall call Manon to help me—"

"I will aid my wife when she needs it," He uttered, his words suddenly hard as he placed her carefully in the cool tub and instantly opened the tap to lukewarm water as it started pouring onto Laur's legs and calming her body.

"Sleep be damned."

The tub started filling up, and the warmth of the water seeped into every crevice of her body and touched her bones, relaxing her entirely.

Édouard got up and walked over to the porcelain shelving beside the bathroom wall mirrors, and almost all of the shelves were now full to the brims with glass bottles of oils and copper tins of creams, along with most all of Laurentine's other beauty products for her bath routines that Manon had unpacked from her suitcases earlier.

"Fuck, these are a lot—which do you need right now?" Édouard asked then, confusion in his voice as he stood staring at the full shelves of bottles and containers.

Laur bit her lip as she smiled.

"Helichrysum oil, Frankincense oil, tea tree oil and lavender oil, please," She managed, "They are in that little silver chest, all four are in little golden glass bottles."

Édouard found the oils and trudged back towards the tub, before dropping onto his knees beside it and uncorking the bottles one by one to add a few drops of each into the water as Laurentine leaned in to close the tap of water now that the bath was full.

She gathered her golden hair from her back and put it into a knot at her crown. Édouard watched her, the bottles now discarded at a side.

"What else do you need, Laur?" He asked then, his voice determined and still touched with concern. "Tell me and I will get it for you."

Laur shook her head, a slight frown on her face. "I need you to go to sleep, Édouard. I will be fine in a few minutes, I promise."

He didn't respond, only looked at her for a few moments before he hastily got up and exited the bathroom, only to return a few seconds later with a dripping cluster of fresh roses in his hand that had earlier sat on the vanity in a water filled vase, courtesy of Gaston the butler.

Then Édouard approached the tub and dropped to his knees again, beginning to anxiously rip out petals of each of the fresh roses in handfuls and dropping them in the tub.

"Édouard, what are you doing?" Laur couldn't help but smile, her heart thrumming wildly at the sight of the luscious red petals coating the water—and her drenched body—in the tub entirely.

"Don't roses help in healing or something?" Édouard muttered then, continuing his task. "I think mother mentioned something of this sort once, can't fucking remember when."

"My love," Laurentine gushed, as she placed her hand under his chin and leaned forward to touch her forehead to his.

"Thank you."

Édouard didn't respond, only exhaled through his nose, before she separated slightly and met his eyes with a calm serenity in her sky-blue gaze.

"What else do you need?" He asked the question again, a desperation marring his voice. "What else can I do?"

"Édouard," Laur breathed. "I'm alright. I promise, my love, I'm perfectly alright."

He nodded then, desperately willing to believe that she was indeed alright, as he dipped his head to her chest, placing kisses from the nape of her neck and onto the tops of her breasts poking out above the water.

Then he stopped, separating himself from her with a haste, a bewildered look in his eyes.

"I won't be able to stop if I go on," He uttered thickly. "You need to rest Laur, I can't fucking function knowing you are in pain because of me."

"Édouard please," Laurentine urged. "I'm not in pain anymore, really. How can I be when my love for you is all I feel right now?"

Édouard scrunched up his face, covering it with both his hands tightly as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"I'm not worthy of your love," He let out, his voice rising. "After all the ways I've hurt you? After everything I've said to you? After all that I've thought—feared—after seeing your scars? I blamed you for them, Laur! In my mind, fuck, I blamed you for them. I thought you were touched—nay, I believed you were taken by someone else. I thought you gave yourself willingly—fuck, Laurentine, I thought and believed every other fucking thing except even the possibility of the reality of what you've told me. No, Laur, you are fucking insane if you give me your love after all this."

Édouard got up on his feet then shakily, and suddenly Laurentine's heart tightened in her chest at his condition. He looked.. depraved almost—so immersed in his desperation that his vulnerability was a cloak covering him visibly.

"I—I want to be deserving of your love, Laur," He let out then, his hazel eyes fixed in hers, the whites of his eyes red. "I want to earn it—fuck I will do anything and everything to feel like I deserve it."

Laurentine's brows furrowed as an ache in her chest deepened.

"You're in pain," He uttered, shaking his head furiously. "You're hurt. You've never been with anyone else and I accused you of—fucking shit, Laur, I'm a worthless reprobate. I can't—I can't live with myself like this. I need to fix this fucking agony in my chest—my mind, it condemns me right now, it won't let me live. How can you love me after all I've said and done? It will kill me, this love of yours that I've done nothing to earn. It will eat me alive."

"Édouard!" Laurentine cried, terrified at the words leaving his mouth.

He stumbled on his feet then, and in a blink was on his knees beside Laur's form, the wall of the tub separating them.

"Why don't you hate me?" He groaned then, his head hanging low as he refused to meet her eyes. "I deserve your hate, Laur, I deserve your hate and nothing else."

Then before Laurentine could say anything, Édouard slammed his forehead hard against the edge of the porcelain tub.

Laur screamed.

He lifted his head to look at her slowly then, and she saw blood profusely dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. The sight of his eyes drenched in blood, and the same blood dripping down his chin and onto the white marbled bathroom floor—it was all horrific for Laurentine's heart.

She reached for him, her hands shaking, but he stumbled away from her as though she might give him the plague.

"Édouard," She cried, sobbing as her heart shattered in her chest.

"I need to fix me, Laur," Édouard uttered, his voice breaking. "I need to feel like I deserve you and this love, because at present I deserve to be anywhere but here with you."

Laurentine's lips parted to say something—anything—but not a single word came out as Édouard stumbled out of the bathroom, leaving her alone after his last word and descent for perhaps a tenth time? Twentieth time? Laurentine had stopped counting.

And like most times she'd be left alone after he stormed out on her, she pulled her knees up to her chest in the rose petals and essential oils filled bathtub and broke down into heavy sobs she tried her hardest to stifle.