Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  “It’s a nice view here. The lake’s not bad, either.”

  It was nowhere near her strongest material, but it was heartfelt. When she’d driven up and seen him sitting there, his hair loose on his shoulders, his long-fingered hand resting spread on the table top, the denim of his jeans stretched over ass and thighs, his T-shirt delineating the set of his resilient shoulders, her heart had been like a rag wrung out of all its blood.

  What if I lose him?

  What if you spend your time with him worrying about losing him? How pointless would that be?

  He didn’t move at first, just kept looking out at the water as she stroked him, pressed her body to his. But then his shoulders lifted in a sigh and he closed his fingers over hers.

  “I figured you’d said ‘fuck that insensitive asshole’ and I’d never hear from you again,” he said.

  “No, you didn’t. You knew this was just a bump in the road, just as I did.”

  “More like a crater.”

  “Nope. Just a bump.” She pressed a kiss to his neck where the stretched T-shirt gave her access to flesh. He sighed again.

  “Don’t be cheerful like that. The ‘rah-rah, it’s all going to be okay’ floor nurse routine.”

  “Does Betty do that?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would I?” She nudged him. “And what’s wrong with a little optimism when clouds are dark? No one fusses about turning on a light when it’s nighttime, right? It’s just good common sense.”

  He chuckled, though his shoulders slumped briefly. She squeezed him, hard. “Turn around and look at me, Des. Please?”

  She backed up enough to let him put his legs under the table. His eyes were weary and sad, which concerned her, but she’d made him laugh. She took it as a hopeful sign.

  Des ran a hand over his face. "All the stuff Betty said, it's true, and I agree with her, 99% of the time. But I get tired of dealing with it, you know, and I can't always be upbeat and rational about it. Sometimes I need to get selfish, childish and stubborn. I need to be pissed off and frustrated and say dumbass things. I have more times of late when I don't feel good, and it makes me less easy to get along with. That's a lot to dump on a girl you've just met and you're trying to impress, you know?"

  Julie recalled her earlier thoughts in the church, when she’d thought about life being so much worse for so many other people, but sometimes something sucked so badly you just had to stomp your feet, be pissed off and childish to deal with it. While it hadn't felt great to be in the debris circle of Des's detonation, she did get it. And she could forgive and love. Reaching out, fighting the fear of rejection, she laid her palm on his chest.

  "So you're telling me you're not perfect? You're human? That's a real let down."

  "Yeah, isn't it?" His attempt at a smile was so painful it twisted her heart. "Actually, the way I behaved was closer to subhuman. I'm sorry, Julie. You didn't deserve any of my shit. And—”

  She shook her head. "Stop right there. That was perfect. You're going to ruin it by saying something like 'this is why I can't be with anyone,’ and that's just so wrongheaded thinking, Des. You're a great guy. You're my guy. I love you. After all the crap relationships I've been in, I should be more cautious and shouldn't trust my feelings at all, and the funny thing is, I haven't, not for a long time. But in this scary short time, I crossed a line with you and suddenly I trust them again. I’ve run the gauntlet. I know what I want and don't want in my life. I don't have to debate endlessly on it anymore."

  “So how about if your guy is having to do dialysis five nights a week? Or hey, you're in the mood for some great sex, but I feel like shit?”

  She pursed her lips. “How about all the wonderful times I'd miss with you if I only keep score on those times? What about the gift of letting me be part of your life, the person who supports and loves you through that? That is a gift, Des, whether you realize it or not. Don't be such a Dom. Give up some control. Come to the dark side and be like the rest of us mere mortals.”

  When his expression darkened, she tightened her fingers on his T-shirt. “Because I’ll tell you one thing up front. When I get sick, your ass better be at my bedside, putting cold compresses on my feverish brow, massaging my feet, asking me if I need a blanket…" At his amused look she tossed a mock scowl at him. "Oh yeah, you laugh, but ask Marcus and Thomas. I am a clingy, needy sick person, and a total wimp. A cold is full scale, I'm-going-to-die, bubonic plague. I am the biggest baby in the universe. Fortunately, I don’t get sick too often, because Marcus said he'd smother me with a pillow and call it an assisted suicide.”

  "Okay, note to self. Call Marcus and Thomas when you get sick."

  "Jerk." She punched his shoulder, pleased when he grabbed her wrist, the hint of a true smile on his face this time. She curled her fingers around his, holding on, and leaned in to touch his face. "We'll get through this, okay? We, you and me, and all our friends. I'm not the only one who loves you, Des." Freeing herself gently, she turned and pulled a small sheaf of folded papers from her bag.

  "What is that?"

  "Well, while you were off being all broody, I was making rounds and reaching out. I didn't tell anyone anything specific, so don't get that scowly look. I told them you were going through a tough time right now and words of encouragement would be appreciated.”

  She handed the small bundle over. The one on top was a crayon drawing on construction paper. It showed a male stick figure walking on his hands on a roof line, a big bright sun behind him. Below that, childish scrawl proclaimed, "You are the sun."

  "That was one of your roof groupies, Tina. She said one day you were up there and the sun was right behind you, and she thought 'Des is the sun.’ So she wanted me to tell you that ‘You're like the sun. You make things shine brighter.’ This is an email from Billie, and a couple from folks at Logan’s club, and the stage hands at the theater today…"

  She hadn’t had time to do much more than a quick call out, so the notes were short, but she knew the content wasn't what was important as much as the sincere good wishes that had gone into them. “Oh, and there's a case of your flavored water in the car, from the guys you work with. One of them, Diego, said a case of beer or a carton of cigarettes is what really says ‘best friends forever’ but since you don’t smoke or drink, the water is as close as they could get to that message.”

  Seeing his pensive look, she closed her hand over his. "You're allowed to be special to people. You're allowed to want your life, to fight for your life. The rest of us will be really happy to have you around. And if you and I don't work out, we don't work out. I'm not going to think, 'Well, hell, he’s sick. I have to stay because of that.’"

  At his look of surprise, she shot him a shrewd glance. "You think I didn't realize that was part of what was bugging you? Des, I want to be with you for you. Healthy or sick. Guilt isn't glue; love is.”

  “Nice. You can put that on a mug.” He didn’t say it in a snarky way, though. More as a way to cover whatever was going on behind his thoughtful brown eyes, though she noticed her comment made his shoulders drop down a notch.

  “I try to make everything I say imminently quotable, so when someone writes my biography they’ll have great sound byte material. It worked for Ben Franklin. They’ve done whole books of his sayings.” She tapped his chest. “Apology accepted. If you’ll accept mine for jumping in with both feet and trying to fix, instead of trying to listen.”

  She took a deep breath. “I can’t promise I’m going to be reasonable and understanding when you want to do things your way that might lead to…bad outcomes. I’m selfish. I want you around. But I will try to be as supportive and caring as possible.”

  “Okay.” He looked out toward the water again. The sunlight limned his jaw, reflected off his hair, making her want to touch, but she restrained herself, knowing he needed to talk. “I want to hang around for you, Julie. I want to see where you and I go. But when I realize that by doing that, I could just deepen this thing
between us, make it worse if…the worst happens…I feel like a real shit. Then I just feel shitty about all of it. I used to manage that fatalistic feeling pretty well, but in some weird way, getting something as amazing as you, as what you and I are finding, has opened it up again.”

  “I asked God what kind of sadistic son of a bitch He is, to do something like that, so you’re not alone in that feeling. Though since you’re a Dom, maybe you understand Him better.”

  “I think you’re thinking of a different kind of sadist. I like to dole out pleasure and pain together.”

  “Well, that’s what this is, isn’t it?” She touched his face. “The greatest of pleasures bring the potential for the deepest pain. Maybe that’s the way it works.”

  “Maybe.” Des closed his hand over hers. He paused long enough she could sense he was struggling with something difficult to say, so she waited him out. “You remember that day at Bob Evans when you thought I was keeping you at arm’s length? I didn’t really understand why you thought I was bullshitting, but I realized this morning it was because I was bullshitting myself.”

  He met her gaze. “I’ve kept relationships at a distance so I wouldn't hurt people, but I never thought that I might be shielding myself. I didn’t want to get so close that saying good-bye would hurt me too much. I don't want to say good-bye to you. But I’m a sinking ship, Julie. That’s the truth.”

  “Oh Des. You’re not a sinking ship. You made it to shore. Here. Inside of me. You can keep me, remember? I’m all yours, no matter where you go.”

  All these years, she’d wanted someone to reassure her of that, that she was something they’d want to keep. In the face of the near violent need she felt in him, a black hole that needed her touch to fill it, to shine light inside it, she let go of any shortcomings or perverse insecurities. She stepped toward what love truly was. A completion for another soul that needed her help to anchor, to ground, to stave off fear and realize everything he was. She was someone who deserved someone she could keep. So did he.

  “I wasn't expecting you,” he said slowly. “I really wasn't. You remember that day we talked about who we’d want to walk into Heaven with? No one came to mind. I’ve felt alone most of my life, and I've embraced that feeling, moved past the fear and owned it. So I guess I'm more afraid of wanting to need someone like that, to allow myself that weakness, because I've always had to live without it. But I've thought about it a lot since our discussion.”

  Her throat was so thick with emotion she wasn’t sure how she was able to talk. "So did you decide on Betty Grable or Marilyn Monroe?"

  "Tough choice. Maybe Sophia Loren. In a gold dress, with a figure made in Heaven, shiny brown hair…" He stroked it, as they both remembered the night at the party.

  “I’m in love for the first time in my life, Julie. I’ve started in that direction before, but I’ve always been able to pull back. I can't seem to pull back from you.”

  He drew a breath. “So I’m going to start the at-home dialysis, like Betty suggested. It’ll be a few times a week, and I can do it at night, when I sleep.”

  “Sounds good. Do it for the people who care about you. It’s only a few hours of your life.” She modified and gave him back the words he’d given her, when he’d wanted her to go to the urgent care.

  His wry expression said he recalled it, though he gave her a direct look. “The first couple times, I’d rather do it on my own, to see how bad it’s going to be.”

  “Okay.” She accepted that, though it took some effort. “But maybe if it’s driving you a bit crazy, you could call me while it’s happening. We could chat a few hours. I know how restless you can get if you have to stay still too long.”

  “Okay.” His fingers clasped hers. “Will you take a walk with me?”

  “Of course I will. Anywhere.”

  He rose, offering her a hand to help her up. As they stood facing one another, she rose on her toes and slid her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight. “I’m sorry for anything I said that was mean,” she said softly against his neck. “But I won’t be sorry for loving you. Not now or ever.”

  His arms wound around her, and he held her just as tightly in answer, putting his face against her hair. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.

  She eased back only when his grip slackened. She was pleased when he took her hand, shouldering the pack he’d had at his feet. He drew her across the parking lot, his destination apparently a trail marker. It was a good thing she’d worn sneakers, because as they hit the trail, his pace increased.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “It’s a surprise. Can you be away from the theater for a while?”

  “All day if needed. I told Harris I had some personal things to handle. Thomas and Marcus are here a few more days. Lila freaked when she realized Thomas was painting some the sets.”

  “Hmm.” He stepped off onto a side trail little more than a deer path, and took her down into a ravine, steep enough he spotted her as they slid down the incline. From there the growth grew even denser. He held branches away from her face as he directed her beneath and around them. Another few steps and the foliage opened into a small clearing with a trio of maple trees and a creek trickling through, a musical gurgle of sound. A frog startled by their appearance hopped back in the water with a small splash. There were moss-covered rocks clustered around the creek, and the area had a damp, green smell to it. Sunlight filtered through the interlaced tree branches enough to balance the coolness, but there was a hushed quietness here that reminded her of the church.

  “So are you about to tell me you’re a serial killer, and this is where you bury your bodies?”

  His lips curved. “You did say you always wanted to meet one, but no.” Closing his hand over her wrist he knelt, drawing her with him. “See here, where the grasses are pressed down? This is where a deer sleeps, maybe a couple of them. A mother and a fawn. Maybe even a male-female pairing, though they don’t really mate for life like other animals do. They can still dream together. Everyone likes having someone like that.”

  “Yeah. But I like the mated pair idea. Let’s pretend they mate for life.”

  “Okay.” He took the hem of her shirt in both hands. “Raise your arms, love.”

  That telltale flutter in her stomach told her that her Dom was taking over. She obeyed and he stripped off her shirt, his gaze sliding over her breasts in the plain pink bra, the fabric thin enough to show the shape of her nipples. He ran a knuckle over her cleavage and then pushed her jeans off her hips. He took her pink underwear with it, removing her shoes and socks, then her bra. She was standing in the forest naked before his avid gaze.

  “Turn toward the tree in the center of those three maples and put your arms over your head. Do it now.” His manner became crisp and decisive, brooking no conversation. A primitive part of her understood. After the overload of vulnerability, he was re-asserting control to bring him balance. Thinking of what she’d said to Marcus about safety and heat, it brought her balance as well. She could handle the times he might be vulnerable, where she would have to be the one that brought reassurance and comfort, but knowing he had this reservoir, and a natural instinct and desire to use it whenever he could, was all that mattered to her.

  He bent and unzipped the front pockets of the tote. She wasn’t surprised he kept coils of rope in the pack, as well as things for his diabetes. He did a quick tie, wraps above and below her breasts, her wrists bound to a branch. A yoke around her throat ran down to the back wraps and secured there, holding her body up straight, her arms bound and her breasts thrust out. He put her face forward against the tree and ran ropes around her upper torso, then dropped to tie her ankles, holding them spread and bound against the tree.

  She had enough slack for him to work his fingers in between the trunk and her body and play with her nipples, pinching them and rubbing the tips against the rough bark as she shuddered and her hips bucked against his pelvis, pressed against her bare ass cheeks.

  �
��I’m thinking I should become one of those guys who lives in the woods, off the grid, and keeps his woman naked all the time,” he said gruffly in her ear. “I’m not feeling very civilized right now, Julie. I want to remind you I’m your Dom at a level I don’t usually go. Can you handle it? Can you handle everything I’m feeling right now, every fucked up, needy, want to fuck you and beat you feeling I have?”

  “I want to feel all you’re feeling,” she responded, her voice unsteady. “Master.”

  Master. It was a whisper that went through her vitals, through her rapidly beating heart and suddenly constricted lungs as he bent and picked up a long stick, about an inch in diameter at the thickest end. He examined the rough, knotted length, the narrowing of it at the end that he tested by pulling on it. In the corner of her eye, she saw how it snapped back, giving it a whip like flexibility.

  No further words, no explanations. He slapped her with the switch and she jumped at the sting, then made a tiny whimper as he followed it with a firm rub over her pale buttocks.

  “God, I love your ass. Just as full and gorgeous as the moon. Going to fuck it and your cunt. After this.”

  She jumped again at the next slap, cried out. He fished in the tote again, and produced a rubber ball. It was too big to swallow, but not too big to get past her teeth as he worked it into her mouth.

  “Don’t want a hiker to hear you screaming and call the police. Now you can beg for mercy all you want.”

  No safe words, none given or needed. She trusted him, knew he’d know if she couldn’t take anymore. The times he’d hinted at giving her more pain, this was the real deal, that side of his nature fully unleashed. She screamed against the ball as he worked up the intensity, crisscrossing the strikes, using different rhythms, patterns, force.

  Her body writhed against the tree, further roughness. He alternated his blows with strokes of her flanks by his strong hands. He pinched and caressed her between her legs, taking the slippery honey there on his fingers and painting it on her rim.