Free My Immortal by Erin McCarthy

appearance. He moved until he was standing next to her and she could see him smiling in reassurance.
    “Your first time?”
    “Yes.”
    “Come on. You can go in with me.” He opened the front door, and with a hand lightly on the small of her back, he urged her forward. “Remember, only do what you want to do. But it’s about having fun, so what you want, take as much as you can handle.”
    Marley’s brain was too terrified to fully understand even what he was saying. She just nodded and walked into the house, pausing in the foyer and taking in her surroundings. The house was lit by candlelight, and the flames danced on the faded wallpaper, over the worn Aubusson carpets, and softened the tears in the blue fabric of a pair of Louis XIV chairs sitting silently on either side of a French occasional table. The smell was a mix of the old musty, stale air, and the newer scents of candles burning and a vase full of flowers. The latter struggled to freshen the house, which the pervasive odor of rot still clung to.
    There was a lack of symmetry to the rooms on either side of the foyer, their doorways not aligned, as if each salon was declaring she was elegant all on her own, and chose not to mirror the other. Well worn, but well preserved, proud and slightly haughty—just like its owner—the Creole mansion fascinated Marley.
    “The house is beautiful,” she said softly.
    “It’s also hot in here,” her companion said, tugging at the neck of his white shirt. “No air-conditioning in these old museums.”
    Marley thought it was warm, but not stuffy. All the windows were open, and a warm breeze shifted through the foyer. She was straining to see up the staircase, to see the portraits hanging along the right side wall, when she felt hands on her.
    “You’re overdressed anyway.” The short, seemingly harmless guy undid the belt on her jacket and had it stripped off her before she could even blink.
    Marley grabbed for the sleeve, trying to keep it on, but he had the element of surprise on his side. The raincoat was gone, tossed behind his back, and she was standing in the stupid black bikini, suddenly realizing what a huge, huge mistake this had been.
    “Much better,” he said, his eyes widening as he stared at her breasts. “You looked more like a spy with that coat on. And while that could be sexy in its own right, I really prefer this.”
    His finger stroked across her breast, lightly squeezing her nipple. “Nice.”
    Marley smacked at him, disgusted, shock turning to anger. “Hands off.”
    Mr. Nice Guy smirked and took a step closer to her. “Not ready yet? Going to play shy? Or do you like a guy who takes it anyway, even when you say no?”
    No, she definitely didn’t like that. Marley clenched her fists and inched backward, ready to either knee him in the nuts or flee into the living room, whichever seemed more appropriate. There were low voices everywhere, surrounding her, hinting at many partygoers, yet she could only see shadows, not people. The house was dark, too dark.
    “I’m not playing games,” she said. “I really mean hands off.”
    “Okay,” he acquiesced, more readily than she had expected. “I was just making sure you’re weren’t trying to start up a little roughhousing. But this is your first time, you’re not ready yet, I understand. Let’s go get a drink and we’ll take it slow, watch some of the other couples for a while. It’s good for me to have to wait.”
    Marley tried to formulate some kind of response, but her mouth was stuck shut like she’d eaten an entire jar of peanut butter.
    “Actually, she is my special guest this evening.”
    Marley turned and saw Damien standing in the doorway, looking casual as usual. The pirate look suited him better than it did the skinny breast-grabber. Damien wore tight black pants, knee-high boots, and a white shirt only half buttoned up. He looked comfortable in the clothes, very masculine, like he’d just stepped off ship into the Port