The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 106: Just For Tonight

Chapter 106: Just For Tonight

Rosalie perched herself delicately on the edge of her comfortable bed, cocooned in not one, not two, but four fluffy, pristine white towels. Her gaze fixated upon Aurora, who was in the midst of a fidgety ballet, surrounded by a bewildering array of perfumed powders and lotions artfully arranged on the makeup table before her. The two-hour-long bath that Rosalie had just endured, complete with a thorough body scrub and a lustrous hair-washing, had proven to be more exhausting than anticipated. Especially since she practically had to repeat the same elaborate bathroom routine she had in the morning, which added an extra layer of tension to her already jittery nerves.

As she observed Aurora’s meticulous preparations, Rosalie could not help but experience a surge of nervousness once more. Her thoughts meandered as she contemplated the night ahead.

’I got suspiciously confused at first before it finally hit me that the "first" night is an important part of the wedding ceremony. Well, since it is just for a show tonight, I feel rather bad for Aurora’s wasted effort, but I guess if we don’t want to be discovered, we will have to go along with it until the very end.’

"...lie? Lady Rosalie?"

The maid’s cheerful voice broke through the thick veil of Rosalie’s contemplation, prompting the lady to redirect her focus toward the woman standing before her, sporting a somewhat sly smile.

"My Lady, is this the attire you have chosen for tonight?"

Lady Ashter’s gaze shifted to the object in Aurora’s grasp, leaving her momentarily speechless. What the maid held was none other than Princess Angelica’s gift—a short, partially transparent boudoir dress crafted from delicate blush-pink lace, adorned with wispy silk ribbons cascading from its loose sleeves.

Taken aback and caught off guard, Rosalie swiftly seized the garment from Aurora’s hands and casually tossed it onto the bed behind her, dismissing it with a nonchalant flick of her wrist, treating it like a discarded object.

"Goodness, Aurora, where on earth did you come across that? My usual nightgown will suffice; there is no need for excessive preparations, please."

Nevertheless, the maid harbored a contrary agenda. She shut her eyes, donning an overtly disapproving countenance, and vigorously shook her head in disagreement.

"Nonsense, My Lady! Lady Cecilia Bennett has graciously sent us the perfect attire for tonight. It would be a grave injustice to disregard her thoughtful gesture!"

Though Rosalie felt the urge to object, an inexplicable force within her compelled silence. She released a resigned sigh, recognizing that acquiescing sooner rather than later would hasten the ordeal’s conclusion. With a deliberate nod, she surrendered, her tone exuding calm compliance,

"Very well, then. Lady Cecilia’s nightgown it shall be. Aurora, please assist me in dressing."

***

Once all the preparations had been meticulously completed, the clock had already advanced past midnight, and Rosalie found herself ensconced within the luxurious yet somewhat imposing confines of Damien’s bedroom.

’I had expected him to have a separate room prepared for us... Oddly enough, I find solace in sharing this space.’

With a nervous exhalation, she closed her eyes, succumbing to the inviting embrace of Damien’s expansive bed. Her senses were greeted by the gentle, unexpectedly warm caress of the silk-embroidered blanket beneath her body. She stretched her arms out, allowing her fingertips to trace meandering patterns on the bedcover, reminiscent of creating a snow angel in freshly fallen snow, and a faint, unbidden smile graced her lips.

’It has his scent. How peculiar that I’ve grown accustomed to recognizing his fragrance.’

As that notion danced through her tranquil mind, the Duke’s scent grew more pronounced, almost as if he were there, right before her. Guided by instinct, Lady Ashter’s eyelids fluttered open, her gray eyes widening in astonishment as they met Damien’s presence. He loomed over her, his flustered face hovering perilously close to hers, and his keen serpent eyes darted frantically across her exquisite features.

"Oh... Your Grace, you’re here..."

For some reason, Rosalie found herself incapacitated, unable to collect her thoughts or make any discernible movements. Eventually, as her mind struggled to regain its footing, she comprehended that Damien had joined her on the bed, his formidable frame leaning fully into her space, his unruly ebony hair cascading over his golden eyes. His breaths were unsteady, and the anxious rhythm of his heartbeat reverberated through the hushed room like a distant drumroll.

Summoning tremendous effort to quell her own anxiety, Lady Ashter swallowed an invisible lump that had seemingly stuck in her throat and parted her lips, mustering the resolve to speak.

"Your Grace... Is––"

"Lady Rosalie..."

At last, Damien’s hushed, velvet voice found its way past his sensuous lips. His gaze briefly lingered on his wife’s mouth before he continued,

"I understand that this is meant to be a mere formality, but... Are you still willing to go through with it?"

Rosalie’s eyes widened in comprehension. It dawned on her that this was no longer just a part of their orchestrated wedding night; it was a genuine desire on Damien’s part.

She allowed her gaze to drift leisurely down the duke’s face, briefly fixating on his luscious lips for a fleeting moment. Her scrutiny continued its descent, tracing the contours of his exposed neck and the broad, muscular expanse of his heaving chest, ultimately noting that his black silk robe hung open, baring his exquisitely chiseled physique and revealing his unmistakable excitement.

Damien, however, found himself unable to tear his sparkling eyes away from Rosalie’s blushing face, patiently awaiting her response.

At long last, she shifted her gaze back to his face and drew in a deep breath, closing her eyelids in an effort to disengage her feverish thoughts from the alluring sight before her.

’This could all come to an end right now if I were to say no. It would be the conclusion of this charade, so why... Why can’t I bring myself to refuse? Is this the genuine Rosalie emerging from the depths of my heart? Or is it simply my own, self-indulgent desire? Just this once... He may return right before Evangelina makes her anticipated debut, and I’ll have to bid him farewell. But just this once... This will be real, free from the influence of Acme’s power. So, just this one time... Can I grant myself the indulgence of selfishness?’

Rosalie, on the cusp of voicing her response, was taken aback when, out of nowhere, Damien’s warm, velvety lips descended upon hers, locking her in a tender kiss teeming with palpable longing. A brief interlude ensued as he withdrew slightly, his hushed words brushing gently over her flushed lips.

"I cannot resist, Rosalie... I will grant you five seconds to halt me, but once that time elapses—"

"I won’t. I won’t stop you."

Now it was Rosalie’s turn to act – she wrapped her arms around Damien’s neck, pulling him even closer, not afraid of the heavy weight of his massive frame, and covered his lips with hers, her passion powered by the overbearing mixture of greed and lust.

As their kiss got even deeper, she felt the back of the duke’s rough hand gently slide over her cheek, slowly making its way down her soft neck and collarbones, until it paused on top of her breast, carefully circling its erect nipple.

With a rather loud gasp, their lips parted again, allowing Lady Ashter to finally catch her breath, while Damien’s lips continued their restless journey down, retracing the way marked by the hot skin of his hand.

With a gentle, yet powerful move, he tore her new white nightgown akin to a wild beast, exposing her petite, yet beautifully sculpted, slender body, and fixed his deep golden eyes on it as if trying to imprint every little part of it into his memory. Then, he pressed his wet lips against her soft skin and started slowly kissing her chest, marking it with his hot touch, leaving no spot unfamiliar with his relentless desire.

Rosalie’s thoughts began to cloud once more. In their previous encounters, when they had to exchange their Acme, everything had swirled into a hazy blur. Their bodies had been mere vessels, guided by the seductive power of the demon, leaving them devoid of personal volition. While they had still managed to savor every fleeting moment of the process, neither of them could truly grasp what was unfolding. It was akin to being intoxicated by Acme, lost in a dazing fog of sensations.

This time, however, the experience bore a distinct quality. Yet, paradoxically, it retained an element of familiarity. Whenever Damien’s touch graced Rosalie’s form, delicate tremors rippled through her, causing her to involuntarily quiver and release nearly imperceptible sighs, her reactions escaping her control. And she reveled in it all. Every facet of the experience brought her profound pleasure.

As the duke’s tongue kept playing with her nipples, the girl felt his warm hand gently touch her crotch, carefully sliding his fingers over her exposed skin as if awaiting a positive reaction, a signal for him to either continue or change his ways. The tender touch of his finger against her sensitive spot prompted Rosalie to let out a hushed moan, which made the man smirk and softly bite his wife’s neck while rubbing her bud faster, savoring every little moan and gasp for air that escaped her parted lips.

"Your Grace... I ––"

"Damien."

The duke, with a teasingly slow and gentle motion, lifted his body upward, delicately positioning his lips against the girl’s ear. His warm breath, combined with the sensation of his loose, slightly damp hair, playfully teased her skin as he spoke in a soft and intimate whisper,

"At least for tonight, please, call me Damien."