Chapter 10: Happiness Deferred
Part 1
Cambridge, Massachusetts, Kent and Prince Residence
God, this is good. She feels good; too damn good. So close. So. Close.
"Are you ready, baby?" Clark's low, raspy voice asked on a husky moan. The only other sounds in the room were that of flesh slapping against flesh and deep, heavy breathing.
His.
Hers.
"Are you ready, Diana?" he asked again, looking up and at the woman he loved. Please, let her be ready this time.
But Diana didn't answer him. Clark wasn't even sure if she'd heard him. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, and hands gripped the sheets at her side. And, damn, she was exquisite when she was in the throes of passion, hair wild, chest heaving, mouth open on a hungry, sensual moan.
And she rode him, not hard and unforgiving, but slow, deliberate and utterly erotic. Diana never rushed their lovemaking. In fact, she took great care to make sure they were both satisfied.
Clark spared a quick glance toward the nightstand and at Diana's gold-and-silver alarm clock. Fifty-five minutes. They'd been at this nearly an hour. He didn't think he'd last another five minutes. Hell, two minutes if Diana swiveled her hips like that again, causing his own hips to involuntarily lift off the bed, slamming into her with a force that brought them both pleasure. Damn her.
She opened her eyes then, peered down at him and—curse her wicked Grecian soul—smiled before swiveling her hips again.
Harder.
Faster.
Wetter.
He was going to explode and Diana still hadn't come yet. Clark cursed his girlfriend again, this time her wretched female stamina. If he didn't know any better, Clark would've sworn that Diana was a demigoddess, part human, part goddess. Because, damn if he'd ever been with a woman who could go as long as they normally did without begging for him to come and "come now."
And, hell, almost two years after having moved in together, they still made love as long and hard as they did their first time together. Admittedly, Clark had a store of pent-up sexual energy when he and Diana finally consummated their relationship. And, yeah, going an hour or more was no problem. Doing it more than once a day was also no problem. Hell, claiming her a second time on the heels of the first was also no big deal. Clark had sperm and hardness to spare. It had, after all, been a long while since he'd last been with a woman. And once he'd met Diana, no other woman would do.
Diana leaned down and over him. Slowly licked the shell of his ear before whispering, "I'm ready, Clark." He almost shouted "Thank God," but flipped her onto her back instead.
With a surprised yelp, Diana quickly adjusted to the change in power positions. But not before he quickly took advantage of her slight disorientation and plunged deep, smiling when a contented breath left Diana followed by a mumbled curse.
Oh, yeah, Clark loved he could do this to Diana; make her forget all good manners and Hippolyta's well-bred training. Besides, there was no room for such nonsense in their bed, not when they could put the space to much better use.
He was, Diana having set his bull free with her words of "I'm ready." Yes, and so was he, the leash gone, only open plains before him. Snorting at the freedom given him, Clark barreled forward.
Diana's legs wrapped around his swiftly moving hips, arms held tight to taut shoulders, mouth captured his lips. And they were together in this, holding each other inexplicably tight, touching on every plane possible. Limbs and lips were twined, taking and giving pleasure, sweaty sinews and burning need.
Then they exploded, in unison and loud. Thunderclaps of release shot through Clark, his organ seeming to expand and lengthen, reaching farther into Diana, claiming her as deeply as possible. As deep and as much as she could allow, her own banks overflowing, pulling him along with the strong, gripping tide of release.
Ragged breathing. Him. Her.
Boneless limbs. Him. Her.
Satiated bodies. Him. Her.
Life couldn't get better than this, Clark thought the next morning as he sat on their bed waiting for Diana to finish with her shower.
Or could it?
He walked to his dresser and opened the first drawer. Moving aside boxers and undershirts, Clark found what he was looking for. Right where I left it. He palmed the item before quickly sliding it into his pants pocket when he heard the shower cut off.
A moment later, Diana exited the master bathroom, her hair piled on top of her head. Releasing it, shiny, black hair fell in elliptical waves over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Clark loved her hair, especially when she wore it down, like she did most days.
"Are you sure you want to go out with Ollie and his latest brain-dead blonde?" Clark asked.
Diana sat on the bed and began to brush out her hair, the black silk robe she wore too short and too sexy to be anything more than a way to torture a man.
"Bruce says she's not like the others."
"So Bruce has met the new one?" Clark sat beside Diana, took the brush from her hand and took over the job of detangling the long tresses. This was something else he loved about living with Diana. She didn't mind all his little quirks, like washing and brushing her hair or cooking for them instead of going out, or just having her sit and listen to one of his short stories.
"Dinah. Her name is Dinah something."
Clark focused on a particularly tangled clump of hair until he'd smoothed it out.
"You're so good at that," she sighed, then leaned her head on his shoulder. "What can I say or do to get you to do this for me every morning?"
Clark couldn't have written a better opening. Taking a deep breath, Clark willed his pounding heart to slow down and let him do this before he lost his nerve.
"You can say 'yes'."
"To what, honey?"
Clark eased himself from under Diana's half-slumped body and down to the carpeted floor in front of her and between her long, toned legs.
She sat up straight. "What are you doing? Why are you on the floor?" She thought for a second, then she smiled at him, and Clark knew what she was thinking even before Diana said, "We don't have time for that, Clark. Wish we did, but, as it is, we'll already be a few minutes late to brunch with Dinah and Ollie."
Clark smiled at that, for he and Diana were often late to gatherings with friends. And, to make matters worse, everyone knew exactly why they were perpetually tardy, Ollie always quick with a "Stop being an overachiever, Clark, and embrace the power of the quickie."
"Not that, Diana."
"Then what? Why do you suddenly look so serious?" She ruffled his hair, undoing what had taken him ten minutes to get just so.
He even loved that about her, although it drove him crazy. Diana Prince had a bad of habit of deliberately pushing his OCD buttons. According to her, he needed to "relax" and not take things so "seriously".
"You're itchin' for a spankin' aren't you?"
The lascivious grin she gave him went straight to his groin, forcing Clark to close his eyes, think of anything other than the fact that they'd played that game only two nights ago, and that his sweet Diana was so far from the virgin girl he'd claimed nearly five years ago.
Taking one of her warm hands, Clark placed it over his chest, where his heart was. "I love you Diana Prince."
She sobered.
"I think I've loved you since the first day we met. I even remember what you wore—red, white, and blue spandex. You were in some fitness class. When I walked by I saw you through the glass wall. I was mesmerized, couldn't take my eyes off you. You were so beautiful and elegant, even while sweating. Then you happened to glance my way . . . and you smiled. You smiled as if I was someone special, someone worth knowing."
"You were worth knowing, Clark. You are worth knowing. Always have been, always will be."
Such faith. Diana was always full of such faith.
He continued to hold her hand, letting her feel how much his heart beat for her, only ever for her.
"You," he began, reciting a poem he'd written especially for her, especially for this occasion, "are my moon and stars. When my path is dark and cloudy or simply unknown, you light my way, guide my movements, and take away my fear. You are my sun and strength, my heart and lungs, my soul and purpose." Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, Clark pulled out the tiny, black velvet box. "Will you also be my wife, Diana? Will you marry me?"
Clark had thought he'd seen Diana in every state possible. Happy. Tired. Frustrated. Angry. Sated. But he'd never seen her look at him in quite the way she was now.
And she was so still. And quiet.
He released her hand so he could open the box. He'd scrimped and saved for two years. When he had been accepted to Harvard for graduate school, Clark knew then that he wanted to marry Diana. But he had little to offer her. Hell, he didn't have much more now. But he'd just completed his last assignment for his Masters of Fine Arts. In less than a month's time, he'd have a MFA and would be on his way to becoming the novelist he'd always dreamed of. Now, if only he could convince his lady to take a chance on him.
Diana stared at him. Not the five grand Princess-cut yellow gold engagement ring he'd brought her. Then she did something he'd never seen her do.
She began to cry.
Diana simply fell into his lap and wept.
Clark held her, fighting back his own tears. For once, he understood what people meant by tears of joy. And there was no doubt that Diana's tears were one of joy.
"May I take your tears as a 'yes'?"
A fervent shake of her head followed more tears, then ardent kisses.
"Yes. Yes. Yes," Diana hiccupped through sobs. "Yes, I'll marry you Clark Kent."
And now he did cry. How could he not? He'd been given the best gift of all. And it was all due to the generosity of the Themyscira Foundation. Without that foundation, Clark wouldn't have been able to afford to attend Harvard and move to Cambridge with Diana. He would forever be grateful.
It was a private foundation, quietly doling out scholarships to students of the arts. His favorite English college professor had applied on Clark's behalf, sending in one of his short stories. To Clark's amazement, the head of the foundation thought his writing showed great potential and wanted to fund his continued education. Unable to find what he was looking for on the Themyscira Foundation website, two weeks ago, Clark had contacted his former English professor in hopes that he could help him learn the name of the person who'd approved his scholarship application. He wanted to send a personal thanks to the man and let him know that his money was well spent and that Clark was due to graduate in three weeks.
Clark lifted himself and Diana off of the floor and onto their bed.
"May I place this ring on your finger now?" Hiding the thing in his drawer the last three months had nearly undid him. He'd contemplated how he'd propose and had come up with a million different ideas, discarding each one as inadequate. As of last night, he'd concluded that after graduation would be the best time to pop the question. But when he'd lain awake this morning watching Diana sleep, Clark had known. He didn't want to wait a day longer to make her his.
Finally.
Completely.
Always and forever.
Wiping the last remnants of her tears away, Diana handed Clark her trembling hand.
He first kissed it, and then slipped the ring from the box and onto her long, slim finger.
"Perfect. Just perfect, Diana. Thank you."
She laughed. "You're the one who's perfect, Clark, and this ring is nothing short of exquisite." She hugged him, settling once again on his lap. "Thank you, Clark, for loving me, for trusting me, and for wanting to make me your wife and life partner."
Life partner. He liked the sound of that.
And they would have stayed like that, holding each other and simply glorying in their love and future as a happily married couple. But life, as it so often does, has a bad habit of intruding at the most inopportune of times.
The phone rang.
Clark held Diana tighter, unwilling to lose this moment. "Let it ring, baby, the machine will get it."
Diana didn't disagree. Instead, she tunneled her hands into his hair and drew him in for a long, sensuous kiss, the type of kiss that was a prelude to them being late for brunch with Ollie and Dinah.
It didn't matter. Ollie would understand.
The phone rang again. And again. And again.
After the sixth ring, the answering machine picked up.
"You've reached," Clark's recorded voice began, "the Kent-Prince residence. They are unable to take your call at the moment. If you would please leave your name, number, and a brief message, they will be sure to get back with you."
Beep.
"Hello, Clark. Clark. Are you there? This is ma? If you are . . ."
His mother sounded frazzled. Martha Kent was never frazzled and she also never called at eleven o'clock on a Sunday when she should've been at church.
Clark leapt across the bed and grabbed the phone off the nightstand.
"Hey, hey, Ma. Don't hang up, I'm here."
"Oh, thank god, honey. I thought I would have to leave a message." She sounded worse now that he had the phone to his ear, breathy and weary.
"What's wrong, Ma?" Because, no, there was no doubt something was wrong.
Diana was now next to him, one reassuring hand on his thigh, her eyes registering the same concern he was sure was in his own.
"It's your father, Clark."
"What about Pa?"
"He's had a heart attack. I'm at the hospital now, waiting for the doctor to let me know what's going on."
"Heart attack?" he said, looking to Diana as if she had the power to confirm or deny his mother's words.
Then, like earlier with Diana, his mother started to cry. But, unlike Diana, her tears had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with fear and unspeakable grief.
Clark felt impotent, unable to help or hold his mother. She was alone in the hospital surrounded by strangers. And where was he? Thousands of miles away, a paltry phone her only lifeline.
"I'll be on the next flight out, Ma. I'll be there as soon as I can."
She said nothing.
Clark stood, his pulse thumping out an irreconcilable beat. This couldn't be happening, not to Jonathan Kent. The man was like a rock, a boulder of strength and endurance.
"Did you hear me, Ma? I'll be there. You won't be alone, I'll be there."
Sniffles then, "Come as soon as you can, honey. Please, hurry."
"I will, I'll—" The phone clicked. His mother was gone, and Clark couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
He had no idea how long he stood there, staring down at the phone, imagining his mother alone in the hospital and his father . . .
"Your flight leaves in three hours."
Eyes gone watery turned to Diana. She was dressed in jeans and a Harvard T-shirt, not her usual Sunday fare.
"What?"
"I've taken care of your flight. The plane leaves in three hours." She shoved her cell phone in her front pants pocket.
Stunned, Clark could only watch as Diana moved swiftly to their closet, pulled out a black duffel bag and started filling it with clothing and toiletries. Before he knew it, she had him strapped into her white Mercedes Benz and was heading for Boston Logan International airport.
The cars, people, and buildings were like an inconsequential blur of colors and shapes.
Then he was at the boarding gate, Diana's face full of worry and love.
"Call me when you land."
"I will."
"Call me as soon as you know what's going on with your father."
"I will."
As much as he wanted to go, needed to be with his mother, Clark couldn't bring himself to turn away from Diana and get onto the plane. A dark shadow billowed around her, threatening to tear her away from him. It loomed far too near, a morbid, familiar face staring back at him. My face.
"Come with me. I need you, baby, come with me."
The last boarding call sounded.
He had to go.
"I'll settle our affairs here first then I'll fly out."
"Promise me."
"I promise, Clark, now get on the plane before it leaves without you."
Grabbing her with too much force, Clark hugged his fiancée, and whispered, "I love you. I'll probably get there and find Pa sitting up and having a good ole laugh at our expense. Then I'll be the one coming home to you."
"Promise."
"I promise. I'll never leave you."
He let her go, and tried to ignore the menacing face that felt too much like death and doom that left Diana's side and followed him. With a chill that burrowed straight to his heart, Clark walked away from Diana and boarded the plane.
Part 2
Two Months Later
Smallville, Kansas, Kent Farm
Clark lay on his bed, staring up at the plain, beige ceiling of his childhood room. He'd used to lay awake when he was a boy and dreamed about what he would do when he was finally old enough to leave the farm and see the world. In his heart of hearts though, Clark Kent knew no matter how far from home he traveled, he would, sooner or later, end up right back where he'd started. Such was his lot in life. He'd been a fool to ever believe otherwise. To believe that a child left by his own parents could ever be more than a pathetic joke on the butt of other people's lives.
Knock. Knock.
Clark closed his eyes, hoping the person on the other side of the door would go away. It had been two months since his father had passed away, yet people were still paying their condolences. Clark was grateful that so many locals cared about the Kents, he truly was. But their sincere sympathy and heartfelt sentiments were driving him beyond reason. Couldn't they see, didn't they know that with every kind word and story of remembrance that they were doing more harm than good.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Resigned to his fate, Clark sat up in bed and said, "Come in."
The door opened and his jaw dropped. Diana.
Like the Diana from too many of his dreams, she walked into the room and closed the door behind her.
Neither spoke, just stared blankly at each other. He hadn't seen her since the Boston airport. Now here she was, staring at him with none of the warmth he'd last seen in her eyes when he'd glanced over his shoulder and waved goodbye, praying that his father would be okay and that he would return to her soon.
But her lack of warmth didn't faze him, he had none for her either.
He stood. "What are you doing here?"
"I was wondering the same of you? Why are you still here, Clark? Why have you not returned home? Why have you stopped returning my phone calls?"
With each question her nostrils flared that much more, her voice rose that much higher. She wouldn't scream at him, Clark knew. No, Diana was far too self-possessed to do anything so common as yelling.
"I told you I needed time to think."
"Think about what?" She ran one frustrated hand through her wavy hair before narrowing her eyes at him. "For goodness sake, Clark, it's been two damn months. What in the hell is going on with you?"
"My father died, Diana, that's what. But perhaps being the spoiled princess that you are, you don't understand something as basic as grief."
She stared at him as if he'd slapped her. He didn't care. This conversation was well overdue.
"I left," he snarled. "I left two years ago and never came back. I left this farm to my aging parents to take care of and it killed my father."
"That wasn't your fault, Clark."
"Of course it was my fault. I was so busy running after you, trying to be the man you wanted me to be that I forgot who I was."
"I never asked you to be anyone other than yourself. Why are you acting like this? Talking to me as if you hate me?"
Tears began to well in her eyes, and the sight nearly broke his resolve. The old Clark would've gone to Diana, pulled her into his arms, and begged her for forgiveness. But he wasn't that meek Clark anymore. He was tired of being played by the Princes and Waynes of the world. He wasn't like them, had never been like them. For a time he'd fooled himself into thinking that birth and money didn't matter. He'd been wrong.
"I don't hate you, Diana. I've just gone through an awakening. You see, since meeting you, I've been asleep, or maybe in a beautiful fog of the rich and famous. In that dream world of mine, I met and fell in love with a princess who kissed a frog and turned him into a prince."
Diana stared at him, blue eyes glistening with tears that had yet to fall, face taut with a mixture of anger and pain.
"When I looked in the mirror I saw the prince you made me feel that I was. Tell me, Diana, when you look at me, do you see the prince or the frog I've always been?"
"You're not making any sense. I have always seen you, Clark. The man I love. The man I've waited two months to return to me, even when it became painfully obvious that you had abandoned me . . . turned your back on all you'd promised. You wouldn't even let me attend your father's funeral."
She did cry then, silent tears she allowed to flow freely down her face.
"I knew you were hurting. I only wanted to be there for you, to give you a shoulder to lean on. But you wouldn't accept even that." She finally wiped at her tears. "I have no idea what happened to us. Nothing you've said so far makes any sense to me."
"Well, baby," he said with the acid he'd felt since learning the truth, "let me clue you in. I know the truth about the scholarship."
"What scholarship?"
Clark crossed his arms over his chest and snorted. "For once, Diana, tell me the truth."
Blue eyes sparked with indignation. "I have never lied to you. Never. Not once."
Her vehemence was so believable, and if he didn't know better, Clark would actually believe her. But he did know better and he didn't believe her. Not. A. Single. Word.
"The Themyscira Foundation scholarship, Diana. I know the truth. I know all about you and your mother."
His college professor had tracked down the information, texting him the name and email of the person responsible for funding his graduate education.
"What in the world does my mother have to do with this?"
"She has everything to do with this, Diana, and well you know it. She's the one who approved my scholarship. But you know that already because you were the one who asked her to do it. Why in the hell else would she? She never liked me. She barely tolerated me."
There was a firestorm brewing behind Diana's eyes and it threatened to burn the entire house down.
Clark stepped back but not down from his words. He knew the truth now. She could deny it all she liked. Themyscira Foundation, how had he not figured it out before? A Greek-named foundation headed by one Hippolyta Prince of Greece.
"My mother has many charities. I don't begin to know them all."
"Charity. Is that what I was to you, Diana, just some charity case from a hick Kansas town? I guess my humble origins weren't good enough for an heiress that you had to ask your mother to pay my way to Harvard. But, of course, you couldn't tell me. A man's pride and all that, right?"
She stepped away from him, her back going to the door, her eyes as black as his battered soul. Diana, who always held herself perfectly erect, slumped against the door and said in a choked voice, "You really believe everything you're saying. I thought you were in deep mourning and didn't know how to handle your father's death. I didn't like the distance, but I convinced myself that you needed time."
Her head lifted and the strength she seemed to have lost a moment ago came roaring back when she stood to her full six foot height. "I had no idea you harbored such thoughts about me and my mother. That you thought so lowly of me as a person and as a woman."
"There's no other explanation, Diana," he insisted, surprised that she would continue to lie to his face.
"No explanation you're willing to listen to. And I'm no longer inclined to even try. Just for the record, Clark, I've always held you in the highest esteem, thought of you as the finest man I've ever met."
She twisted something off her finger and threw it at him.
Mindlessly, he caught it.
"That is until today." She moved away from the bedroom door and opened it. Stepping into the hallway she said, "I'll have your things forwarded to you. Unless, of course, you think I'm too much of a rich bitch liar to be trusted."
In the same silent way she arrived, Diana walked away from Clark.
Glancing down, he realized he held the engagement ring he'd given her. Turning, he saw his reflection in the mirror, a meager shadow of his former self.
Suddenly feeling like he'd made the biggest mistake of his life, Clark dashed out of his room, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Peeling away from the farmhouse was a black SUV with a too-familiar face in the driver's seat.
Bruce Wayne.
Damn him.
Damn me.
TO BE CONTINUED
