The Heartwood Box: A Fairy Tale

by Lilia Ford

  “Help you?”

  “Yes Derek, help me. I’d like to pick some flowers, and I’d like you to help me.”

  Honestly, the man acted as if she’d asked him to eat garden slugs!

  She couldn’t help taking a small bit of revenge by handing him the stems to hold as she gathered them. She blathered at him as they walked, telling him about Roderick’s offer to teach her to cook, Sally and Peter Crane’s visit, sleeping out in the conservatory. She got only grunts until she mentioned Mist.

  “A Fae horse? Donal!” Derek growled angrily.

  “It was Declan’s gift!”

  “And he had no business giving it to you!”

  “What’s your problem with it? I’m told the horse is extremely safe,” she shot back.

  “They should have waited for Damian to return. It should have been his decision whether you’re to have a horse, just like giving you that key should be Damian’s decision.”

  “You say that because you know he’d prefer I never leave the house.”

  “Yes, he would prefer it. And as his wife, you should abide by his wishes. I suppose you mean to ride her?”

  “Yes, Derek, I mean to learn how.”

  “You don’t already know?” His face was darkening with each second.

  “Whatever you are going to say, don’t! No tyrannizing, Derek, you promised.”

  “I didn’t promise.”

  “Is this really so much to ask, Derek?” she exploded, catching him by surprise. “One bloody afternoon?”

  She tried to walk off, but he grabbed her arm and refused to let her go. More despotism from him! Genevieve had reached her breaking point.

  “I’ll tell you something else I never told your brothers!” she screamed. “You all thought I looked so ill at the picnic? Four years ago, I went mad. I thought a demon had possessed me. I tore apart a pianoforte with a hammer until my fingernails were shredded. An instrument my parents had saved for years to buy for me! I spent the last four years of my life shut up in my room—too afraid and miserable to leave the house. I did that to myself, do you understand? I won’t let you and Damian put me back there to satisfy your… lust, obsession, fear—whatever it is those Reavers did to you!”

  She tried again to wrench her arm away, and when he didn’t let go, she barked, “Parole!”

  Derek instantly released her, and Genevieve stormed over to the fountain and splashed her face repeatedly, trying to keep from sobbing over him like some pitiful, lovelorn female.

  She was startled when Derek said from about three inches behind her, “Four hours?”

  She turned and faced him. “Four hours, Derek.”

  He had a calculating look in his eye. “When this is over, I want four hours too.”

  “What?”

  “I want four hours where you obey me without any defiance.”

  “Derek, I have never been with you….”

  “I won’t ask anything my brothers wouldn’t,” he said intently.

  Genevieve considered that highly unlikely. “One hour,” she countered.

  He nodded grudgingly.

  “No gags. Never again unless I consent. Declan said I must set limits and this is one.” He hesitated. “Derek, you took away my ability to speak the moment I tried to resist you.”

  “We were under attack—you were struggling.”

  “Yes, and if you’d said, ‘Reavers are after you, Genevieve,’ I would have stopped. At the very least, you could have tried that before binding and gagging me and tying me to the horse. We both know neither of your brothers would have had to!”

  Another grudging nod.

  “Then I agree,” she said, praying she didn’t regret this.

  There was a pause while she pondered what on earth she should do next, when Derek said thoughtfully, “I’ll teach you to ride the horse, but you need to be stronger.”

  It took Genevieve a moment to make sense of what he’d just said. “Stronger?”

  “If you wish to ride, you must be stronger,” he repeated. “You can barely lift a glass of water, and you plan to manage a sixteen-hundred pound Fae thoroughbred.”

  “Aren’t you afraid if I’m stronger I’ll be able to fight the three of you off when you try to domineer?” she said tartly.

  Derek gave her an insultingly blank look. “There is no risk of that,” he said flatly.

  “Perhaps you should teach me to use weapons then,” she muttered. To her amazement, Derek turned on her. “That was a joke,” she started to say.

  But his expression made clear it was no joke to him. He reflected for a minute before saying, “Crossbow and throwing knives. We’ll start today.” She thought she might just have caught a glint of humor when he added, “Good suggestion.”

  He grabbed her by her upper arm (Titania forbid he hold her hand!), and dragged her back towards the house. As they reached the door of the conservatory, he looked at the hand that held the lavender as if wondering what on earth it was.

  “If you drop them, Derek, you can go pick a new bouquet.”

  “What do you want done with… these?” he grated. From his tone, he might have been saying, “What do you want done with this maggot-ridden animal carcass?”

  “They are flowers, Derek. They require a vase with water,” she answered as if speaking to a toddler.

  He just nodded. When they got to the anteroom he said, “Wait here!”

  This was Derek Black not tyrannizing.

  He went into the dining room, presumably through the door to the kitchen, and came back two minutes later with her bouquet in an extremely fine crystal vase—much too fine for an unruly bunch of herbs.

  Truly there was something astonishing in the sight of Derek carrying a vase of flowers. But he grabbed her upper arm again and led both of them upstairs.

  “Do something with this,” he said, handing her the vase.

  While he went into his little room, she took the flowers to the bedroom and left them on the small dining table, trying not to think about what it would mean to share this room with Derek.

  She was thirsty and poured herself a glass of lemon water from the pitcher that Damian had ordered always be left on the coffee table. For the first time in her life, she wished she drank brandy. She met Derek again in the corridor. “We’ll start with the crossbow today. You can carry it when you go on rides,” he said.

  Genevieve had wanted time with Derek. She supposed it was easier to spend it learning about weaponry than picking flowers. On their way out of the kitchen (she walking on her own feet, not being carried over a man’s shoulder), she asked George for a lump of sugar for Mist—to Derek’s blatant but silent disapproval. They paid Mist a short visit and then went out to the empty paddock.

  And so once again she got to learn the art of shooting projectiles, evidently an important activity for the Black brothers. Of course, instead of spitting cherry pits, she was shooting a crossbow—and for three hours instead of twenty minutes.

  Derek was usually so taciturn, but it turned out he had plenty to say about crossbows, which were clearly a favorite topic.

  Truly a great deal to say!

  By the end of the first hour, he’d lectured her at length about quarrels and other bolts; the primary differences between yew and ash bows; the competing merits of hemp, linen, and mulberry for strings; culminating with a very extensive analysis of the special features of the Fae crossbow, something called a “recurve”—apparently a very powerful innovation!

  Genevieve struggled to take in all of this. Derek didn’t tyrannize precisely, though teaching clearly put him in a position of ordering her about. In fairness, he was a good instructor, patient with her mistakes without unreasonable expectations as to her skills, even if he did not readily distinguish between information that was truly necessary to shoot the damn thing and information that was only of interest to the curious (curious in this case referring to him, not her).

  But it was far from terrible, and she acknowledged that learning to fi
re this weapon might come in handy—if only to make Derek and Damian more comfortable about her riding to the village on Mist.

  The best moment came after about her hundredth shot when she finally grazed the target they were using.

  Derek Black actually made a small smile.

  Genevieve was so excited she clapped and kissed him on the mouth. They both froze. She kissed his brothers so often and easily, but this kind of intimacy had never been possible with Derek.

  She nibbled her lip, watching for his reaction. “Kiss me,” she murmured.

  With surprising gentleness, Derek took her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers. His expression was usually so harsh, those times he relaxed she noticed how full and sensuous his mouth was.

  She parted her lips slightly, inviting him to go deeper, but he held back. So she went deeper, slipping her tongue into his mouth to find his, excited to discover his taste again.

  She felt his jolt of surprise, but then he stopped the kiss and shoved her away almost roughly. Genevieve bit her lip miserably, wondering if she’d somehow repelled him.

  “We still have seven minutes,” Derek grated.

  “What?”

  “Seven minutes until the four hours is up.”

  Genevieve laughed. “You’ve really been keeping track?”

  His stark expression should have warned her. Though he’d largely abided by her rule about tyrannizing, it had truly been a challenge for him.

  And her time was rapidly running out.

  “Has it been so horrible?” she demanded. “Not domineering over me for a single afternoon.”

  “It is not easy,” he admitted.

  “Then perhaps it is a skill that can be learned—like shooting a crossbow?” she said with a bright smile.

  “Perhaps,” he responded dourly.

  As they began the walk back to the house, however, Genevieve noticed something. Derek’s expression was changing before her eyes. The awkward, earnest crossbow instructor was fading away. In his place was the man she’d only seen in the cave.

  This Derek was a graceful predator—one who was preparing to pounce.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Genevieve couldn’t help edging away. Was she truly ready to share a bed with this man? “Derek?”

  “Your time is up. It’s my turn—one hour, complete obedience.” Genevieve couldn’t help hesitating. “One hour,” he repeated. And then he said, “I need this.”

  Derek never lied. He did need this. And she admitted to herself that she’d never given it to him before. She’d fought and defied him at every point since she’d met him, far more than she’d fought his brothers.

  But complete obedience? Could she really in honesty give this to him?

  “I’ll try,” she gasped.

  “Go back to the bedroom. Take everything off but your shift and stand at the end of the bed until I come for you.”

  Genevieve shuddered, astounded at how violently her desires fired when he spoke to her like this. Thank the Gods she passed no one else on the way back to their room. She couldn’t have met anyone’s eye.

  Once in her room, she undressed mechanically. If she allowed herself to think about what was happening, she’d probably try to flee like a terrified rabbit—she couldn’t bear to imagine what Derek would do if he had to hunt her down.

  She went and stood at the end of the bed, wondering that her hands were shaking so much. Her breathing was quick and shallow, and she feared she was getting dizzy.

  Why was this so much harder with Derek?

  The door opened, and she clutched her sides, trying to control her nervousness. Derek moved so silently, she almost squawked when he suddenly wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. He’d removed his shirt and was wearing the loose linen trousers his brothers favored. “Easy angel,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” she pleaded like an idiot.

  “We’ll take this slow today,” he said, “but I will spank you if you disobey me. Unless I ask you a question, you do not have permission to speak. If it’s too much or if you’re frightened, say the word ‘parole’ and everything will stop.” She nodded at him, spellbound by his voice and the intensity of her desire. “Kneel in front of me.”

  Her face turned bright red, but she obeyed, closing her eyes.

  She felt his hand on her chin. “Always keep your eyes on me unless I tell you otherwise, angel.” She looked up at him. His harsh expression had mellowed into something sensual and seductive, and his voice had taken on a velvety quality. “Hold out your wrists.” When she obeyed, he buckled the green cuffs on. “Stand up and face the bed again…. Good, now raise your arms.” She trembled as Derek slipped her shift over her head, leaving her completely naked. “Good girl. Now I am going to inspect you. Clasp your hands behind your neck and hold them there.”

  She felt a surge of alarm, but she obeyed him. She couldn’t suppress a shudder when she felt Derek’s hands on her breasts. His touch was so… knowing.

  He slowly trailed a finger around the outer rim of each breast and then cupped them with his palms as if to weigh them. Afterwards, he began kneading them. She desperately wanted to slap his hand away, but she felt restrained by his command. His touch was almost too soft at first, but it steadily became firmer until he squeezed hard enough to cause her to cry out.

  He nuzzled her neck, murmuring, “Keep still, Genevieve. I am testing how you respond to my touch.”

  He moved to her nipples. He lightly traced the rose tip of each breast with a finger and then began exploring. His touch was exquisitely pleasurable, and the erotic effect was magnified tenfold by being forced to stand passively while he freely touched her body. As always with Derek, she felt completely out of control, as if he had somehow taken over her body, and it now answered to him and not her.

  “Do not move!” he ordered sharply, and all of a sudden he squeezed and twisted first her right and then her left nipple. Her body wrenched into a short, sharp climax as strong spasms of sensation shot from her breasts to her sex and through the rest of her body. Genevieve screamed and flinched, but somehow she kept her position. She shuddered when she realized that pain in such a sensitive spot had actually driven her to orgasm—and that Derek had known it would.

  Derek gently caressed her breasts, soothing them, and then stepped back. “That was good. Now I want you to spread your legs as far apart as you can and bend over, placing your hands on the end of the bed.”

  “What?”

  She felt a sharp slap on her buttocks. “You do not have permission to speak. No hesitations, Genevieve. When I give you a command, I expect immediate obedience without any questions.” His tone was calm, but granite hard.

  He nudged her legs and she complied, widening them so far apart it was difficult to balance. She bent over and clutched the bedspread to steady herself. A few tears dribbled down when she realized how utterly exposed she was. Derek gripped her hips to make sure she was stable and then brushed his hands over her buttocks and thighs, up her back and around to her stomach. She let out a scream as she felt him pull open the cheeks of her buttocks and use his thumb to gently knead the little hole that Donal had played with.

  “Stay still, Genevieve,” he warned in the same calm tone. She couldn’t help letting out a groan at the sensation, invasive though it was. Derek murmured, “You’re very sensitive here.”

  Thank Titania he stopped, and his fingers moved to her folds. To her shock, he knelt behind her and blatantly pulled them apart and blew on them, his face inches away. She flinched and tried to pull away and felt another stinging slap on her rear end. “You will stay like this until I tell you to move.”

  She froze, reminding herself that she’d given her promise. He placed a single gentle kiss on her sex before standing again. To her surprise, he placed his left hand on her lower stomach with his fingers spread widely. Then he began exploring her sex with his right hand. He ran his fingers through her folds, swirling, rubbing, pressing at differen
t points. After he’d touched everywhere, he began to massage her bud, moving it a dozen different ways, each more arousing than the last. Finally, he thrust his fingers inside of her. Again he touched everywhere, exploring every last bit of that most intimate part of her body.

  She was so desperate by now, his movements felt like torture though she was sure it wasn’t his main purpose. Unlike Donal, Derek didn’t tease. He was doing exactly what he’d said—testing her responses. And she just knew he was keeping track of every tremor of hers no matter how small. It was deeply unnerving. From the first time they’d met, she’d felt cornered by Derek, as if he were a hunter and she his prey. She felt it again now. He was stalking her, methodically uncovering every weakness of her body, which he would then ruthlessly exploit to dominate her.

  By this point, her sex was soaked, and the self-control needed to submit passively to this “inspection” was making her crazed. Finally, he pulled out. “That was very good. Stand up again.” When she obeyed, he said from behind her, “Every night we are together, you will perform these same acts—undress, stand by the end of the bed and wait for me, kneel so I can put on your cuffs, and then stand for inspection. Do you understand?”

  She was staggered by the audacity of his demand and by her body’s shameless response. She nodded before she could stop herself. “I expect a verbal answer to my questions, Genevieve.”

  “Yes, I understand,” she said weakly.

  “Good. Turn around and face me.”

  She obeyed but instinctively raised her arms to cover her breasts. Derek yanked them down. “Never cover your breasts in front of me, Genevieve! Do it again and I will give you a real spanking.”

  Genevieve groaned just imagining it. She lowered her arms, clenching her teeth with the effort to keep them in place. She could practically feel that demon of hers waking from its five-day slumber and raising its head to sniff the wind curiously. She’d learned in the cave that the demonic part of herself reveled in punishment no matter how severe, and if she wasn’t careful, it would rise up and seize control.