Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
JAKE
Late May, 2013
Saturday morning, I walked out toward my car with my load a little lighter after my latest emergency therapy session. As soon as I got back from Portland, I emailed Dr. McCallum to see how many extra hours we’d be able to fit in whenever I’d be home. I needed help. Lots of help.
I was finally being honest with myself, admitting that I was in love with Shelby. I needed to figure out how to draw out and separate those feelings that were now all messy and enmeshed with my fucked-up savior complex. But I did know that my love for her was now greater than my need to save her.
And it was high time to focus on my own redemption.
I was ready to be honest with Dr. McCallum and come clean about Shelby’s history. I’d admitted I’d been tempted by the fact that she’d lost her husband and how I’d been more than willing to undo all the hard work I’d done up until that point. To her credit, she had simply looked at me expressionlessly and said, “I see.” I suspect it took reliance on every ounce of her professionalism and restraint not to stand on her chair, point at me and shout, “Ha! I knew it!” I was extremely grateful for that.
I’d also shared my new suspicions that Ari had been abusive to Shelby in some capacity, but these new revelations had not triggered my hero complex as much as they triggered a seething anger toward a ghost. How could someone having been given the precious gift of Shelby’s heart, her love and her trust, how could he have squandered it like that? Betrayed it? How had it been possible for him to knowingly hurt her? I admit I had been mesmerized by her tears, but only because I’d not been the one to cause them.
There were skeins and skeins of yarn here to unravel. And yes, I had begun using Shelby’s metaphors.
Having her come to San Francisco was Dr. McCallum’s idea. It would feel safer for me, and more meaningful for her, hopefully indicating that I was serious about trying to move forward and have a real relationship if we could get the footing solid. She said I had to be ready for the possibility of Shelby getting angry and not wanting to stay, so I’d tentatively held a room at a hotel and Brenda booked a flight for the next day, just in case. I would never force her to stay with me if she couldn’t handle what I was telling her.
But first, before we got into all of that, I had to make up a bedtime story.
As I was working on it throughout the day I’d typed and deleted so many drafts because nothing was feeling right. It had started out dirty, downright filthy, and while it succeeded in turning me on, I had my doubts it would do the same for Shelby. She didn’t seem to appreciate much explicit language. At least not yet. I’d come to hope that if we made it past all of this and she took full agency of her power, maybe someday all sorts of vulgarity would drip from that gorgeous mouth as she’d have me whimpering for mercy. But this was not to be the story I told her.
I reworded and tweaked and finessed until it was time to call her.
“Hello there,” she purred into the phone.
“Hello yourself. Are you all comfy and cozy in your bed, ready for your bedtime story?”
“Yes. Hang on,” she said. I heard rustling and a tiny meow. My phone pinged and I saw a text from her come through. It was a picture of her in bed with little Minx, soft light from the lamp beside her bed illuminating her freshly scrubbed and moisturized skin. I ached with affection.
I sighed into the phone. “God. You are so beautiful. I wish I was there next to you.”
“Mmm. Me too.”
“Okay, here we go.” I took a deep breath. After this, no amount of laundering would be enough to get the stain of my heart off my sleeve.
“Once upon a time, in the prosperous kingdom of Vesuria, there lived a beautiful princess named Iliza. Vesuria sat nestled at the bottom of Mount Eptou, giving the kingdom, as well as the six others that surrounded it, the awesome responsibility of protecting the secret that lay near the mountain’s summit.
Iliza’s father, King Gohran, had promised her hand to Prince Ossian of Zoya, another of the Seven Kingdoms. The wedding was to take place in less than two weeks. She knew it was her obligation to marry for the good of the kingdom and their union would further fortify protection for the mountain. Ossian was charming and rakishly handsome, and Iliza was the envy of all the women of the surrounding lands. She should have been over the moon.
But she wasn’t. She felt sick.
All she could think about every day, all day, was Balthazar, the captain of the guard ten years her senior. One day, when she’d been a young girl of thirteen playing a game of chase with her brothers, she’d carelessly crashed into this solid wall of man. She’d put up her hands to press herself away from him. Feeling all heat and muscle. Smelling all musk and sweat. It awakened feelings inside her that she’d never known. Balthazar had simply grabbed Iliza by the shoulders and effortlessly lifted her up and moved her out of his way with a grumpy huff, continuing about his business. Since that day, thoughts of him consumed her and whenever he was near her, she felt things in secret places she could hardly admit to herself.
Balthazar could not be bothered with children. The day she’d crashed into him, this child, this spindly mass of arms and legs and hair was most definitely a bother. He’d been tasked then to head a long campaign to keep the threat of invading warriors at bay, only to return five years later to see Iliza was no longer a child. Where there had been straight lines and spindles, there were now soft curves. Where there had been wild, tangled hair, there were now shiny waves of crimson that cascaded down her back. Pillowy lips and bright azure eyes. She was still a bother, make no mistake, but now for an entirely different reason.
Princess Iliza longed for Balthazar to notice her. And sometimes she swore he did. Their eyes would meet across the courtyard and hold a gaze so intense she thought she might faint. Her wedding was fast approaching, and she would be moved to Zoya, never to see Balthazar again. She was often bereft and inconsolable, not able to tell anyone the reason why.
Then, inspiration struck.
It seemed the fates were on her side as The Great Wishing would be upon them in just two days’ time.
The secret that lay at the summit of Mount Eptou, the secret that the Seven Kingdoms were bound to protect was The Wishing Lake. Once a year, under a full moon, the residents of these kingdoms would make the sacred pilgrimage up the mountain. It was said that if you made a wish on a stone and threw it into the lake, your wish would come true. And it was well more than folklore. The Kingdoms were prosperous, babies all born healthy and well, marriages all blessed, and the sick were healed. Neighboring kingdoms were allowed to make an earnest appeal to the Seven to be able to make the journey as an outsider. But always, great care was taken to keep the pilgrimage manageable and protected.
Iliza decided she had to make her way to the Wishing Lake and be freed of her obligation, wishing to finally be in the arms of Balthazar. She summoned her handmaiden, Greta, and together they hatched a plan. She told her father she wanted to make the journey to Zoya before the wedding to ease her mind of the unknown. She’d seen the common spaces of the castle, but she wanted a say in how things would be set up in her private chambers, and she wanted everything to be in place as soon as the wedding was over. Her father agreed, but insisted she be escorted by two guards. This would make things complicated, but not impossible.
The journey was two days long. They made camp the first night, conveniently near to where the pilgrimage was to make its way up the mountain. After the guards had made dinner over the fire, one took out a satchel of mead. Greta shamelessly snatched the satchel,drained it, and began to flirt with the guards. Iliza feigned ill and went to her tent to retire for the evening. There she waited while Greta executed her part of the plan. Iliza couldn’t help but watch Greta enchant the amorous guards with her wiles. She stood mesmerized as Greta, breasts bared, and legs spread wantonly, took one guard in her hand and the other into her mouth. Iliza had never seen a naked man before and while she was barely able to tear her eyes away, she was more determined than ever in her quest to make Balthazar hers.
In the distance she could see the lantern trail of the pilgrimage. She lit her own lantern once she knew she wouldn’t be seen by the distracted guards and hurried to join the group. She hid her face under her cloak and kept her distance, not wanting to be recognized.
Once the pilgrimage reached the area surrounding the lake, the search began in earnest for the perfect stone. Each person was to look for a stone that spoke to them, one that called out to them and felt right settled into their hand. Once you’d found your stone, you’d make your wish. If your wish was to have money, you’d put the stone in your pocket. If your wish was to be healed, you’d place the stone near the wound or source of your pain. If your wish was a healthy baby, you’d hold the stone to your belly. If you were hungry, or if your village was suffering famine, you’d put the stone in your mouth, and so on.
The Lake was not for making wishes that would cause harm to others, and people who made wishes such as these would soon suffer their own terrible fates. These lessons were hard learned and well known, but still, people driven by hate or greed would continue to take the risk, and ultimately pay the price.
Iliza’s need was clear to her, yet she’d never heard of someone making such a wish. She had to get creative. She searched and searched until finally she came upon the perfect stone. Oblong. Smooth. Reasonably long and thick. She picked it up and went to find somewhere to hide. While everyone else was surrounding the lake making their wishes, Iliza could not be seen. She found a secluded area behind some bushes and knelt on the ground. She wiped the stone on her dress and held it to her lips, closing her eyes and imaginingBalthazar standing naked before her. She timidly touched her tongue to the stone and began wishing that someday she might do the same to him. She lifted her dress and slid it back and forth across her neediest place, imagining the broad shadow and weight of Balthazar’s body above her as he patiently took her virginity. Before long, Iliza found herself moving the stone in and out of her soaked sex, frantically working her way to climax, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Once her convulsions had ceased, and tears began to spill out of her eyes, she got up and joined the others at the edge of the lake. She closed her eyes and made one final plea before casting the stone into the cerulean water.
When she returned from the journey to Zoya exhausted from having to push Prince Ossian and his wandering hands away from her, she went in search of Balthazar. She stalked the outside of the guards’ quarters in the courtyard and waited patiently until finally she saw him. And he was headed right toward her.
‘My lady.’ He bowed.
She curtseyed her greeting in return, her heart pounding in her chest.
‘Might I have a word with you in private?’ Balthazar asked her. ‘I wish to discuss the transfer of your care to your new guard in Zoya.’
‘Of course, Balthazar,’ she said. She was thrilled and terrified at the thought of being alone with him. Just then, Greta came rushing toward them.
‘I’ve been asked by your father to summon you, M’lady. There is news.’
Iliza was saddened to leave Balthazar just as it seemed her wish was to come true, but she did as she was told.
‘My daughter,’ King Gohran said, ‘I have news of great sadness. Just after you left Zoya, Prince Ossian was thrown from his horse and has been killed.’
Iliza crumpled. It was not grief she was feeling but guilt. She had not intended to cause harm to anyone to make her wish come true.
What she did not know was that Ossian had also joined the pilgrimage anonymously. His own malicious wish had been for his father to die, not only to take the throne, but also to form an alliance with a large warring faction soon descending on the Seven Kingdoms to overtake Mount Eptou. Wishing to cause harm to others, Ossian had met his own terrible fate instead.
Days later, Iliza once again found herself outside the courtyard and watching enraptured as Balthazar approached her. ‘My lady,’ he bowed once more. ‘Shall we continue our conversation?’
‘Have you not heard?’ Iliza asked incredulously. ‘Prince Ossian has died. There will be no wedding.’
‘Oh yes. That is quite tragic,’ Balthazar said, with no hint of sadness in his eyes. In fact, to Iliza, it looked more like amusement. ‘But there will certainly be a funeral, and planning for your safety will need to be arranged.’
‘I suppose you are right.’ Iliza had never been asked for her opinion in these matters, but she did not dare question it if it was to mean she’d finally be alone with Balthazar.
He tenderly placed a hand on the small of her back, the simple gesture nearly leveling her as he’d not touched her since the day she’d crashed into him years before. He led her confidently to his quarters ignoring the gaze of curious onlookers in the courtyard.
Once Iliza had crossed the threshold of Balthazar’s private quarters, she was barely able to breathe. She heard the door close behind her, his footsteps slowly approaching until he was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his body.
“My lady,’ he said. She’d heard the phrase hundreds of times by hundreds of people but never, ever in a way that made her knees threaten to buckle beneath her. A way that made her insides twist and coils of heat and ache ricochet throughout the lowest part of her belly.
Balthazar grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. She gasped at the suddenness and roughness of the act, but instantly his hands were tenderly caressing her face.
‘My lady. Iliza. I think of you every hour of every day. I dream about you every night. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this.’ He looked deep into her eyes with all the need he couldn’t express with words.
She put her hands on his chest. Remembering so long ago when this very chest had awakened those feelings in her.
‘Tell me. Have you been with a man before?’ Balthazar asked.
She shook her head.
‘Then I will try to be as gentle as I can. I can’t promise I will succeed because I’ve wanted this for so long. Imagined this for so long. But I will try,’ he said.
Iliza couldn’t speak, and even if she could, she wouldn’t have known what to say. This was a moment that transcended words. She only wanted to touch and to be touched. To ravage and be ravaged. To have the only thing that escaped her mouth to be moans and screams of pleasure intermixed with the name of the man responsible.
Balthazar fisted Iliza’s hair firmly, tilting her head as he claimed her mouth. His tongue breaching her lips and exploring, finding her so warm and inviting, and so, so eager. He trembled with desire, desperately fighting the urge to take her as roughly and as possessively as he had done in his imagination a hundred times before. But he did not want to scare her. He did not want to hurt her. He did not want to do anything to ruin this moment. She pulled away from the kiss and walked toward the bed. Still turned away from him, she slowly began to undress. He was thrilled beyond measure that she wanted this as much as he did. He pressed himself up against her back, his lips tasting every inch of skin as she bared it.
She freed herself of her clothes and turned back to face Balthazar. The way he looked at her was frightening. Lusty and driven, like a man possessed. But it also exhilarated her, sparking and igniting her entire body from the inside out. He began to undress himself and Iliza didn’t blink. She didn’t want to miss a second of watching his fingers move deftly over his clothing as his eyes stayed fixed on her. Unveiling muscle after muscle, plane after plane of solid man. Once he was naked and she’d finally been able to wrestle her eyes away from the curious and compelling divining rod between his legs, they landed on his mouth just as he licked his lips. She clenched her thighs together as her sex wept with need.”
A laugh burst through the dam of closed lips escalating into a full cackle.
“Aw, come on! That’s not fair—you laughing at me.” I whined.
“I’m sorry, but ‘her sex wept with need?’ I can’t.” Shelby laughed harder. “I can’t.”
“You know, I did research ! I read a bunch of smutty excerpts and found all the euphemisms I could because I didn’t think you’d like for me to say ‘cock’ and ‘pussy.’ I worked hard on this!” I wasn’t mad. I’d rolled my eyes more than a few times as I’d been writing. “And you’re messing up the hottest scene! God. You’re insufferable.”
“I’m sorry. I am.” Still laughing. “Now, ‘divining rod’? That is a new one. I like it.”
“Okay, how about you just listen to the damn story and try not to judge my word choices?” I’d hoped she could feel me smiling. The excerpts I read were often equal parts hot and awkward, as was writing this scene. I’ve got to give the Bodice Ripper Brigade a lot of credit when they can strike the balance well.
“I can do that,” Shelby said. “But as long as we are taking a break, I’m gonna pee quick.”
I grinned to myself.
A break in the middle of the sex scene was pretty on brand for us.