Chapter 33: New Genesis

Metropolis, Hilton Hotel & Resort

Diana knew instantly when Clark finally drifted off to sleep. His hold on her waist loosened just a tad and the soft sound of snoring drifted down her hair and settled into a lost but unexpectedly unleashed memory. Many memories about her time with Clark were slowly, effortlessly rising to the surface. Waters from the ocean's depth that was her mind could no longer be contained, could no longer be appeased with anything but total release, absolute freedom.

And it was beginning to overrun her mind, seeping into other parts of her body. Like my heart. But the dams were buckling, slowly caving in on themselves, a last defense that once gone would leave Diana vulnerable. Like before.

But was vulnerability such an awful prospect? And was vulnerability, on some level, the price of loving someone else and of being loved in return? Diana knew it to be, yet the thought of opening herself to Clark so fully was a risk she feared, a leap into the abyss of faith she didn't know if she could make.

Yet Clark had already made that leap of faith, she reminded herself. And now he wants me to make it with him. To a certain extent, Diana already had. But she hadn't totally embraced the free fall; her wings not completely open, allowing her to fly, to soar. And he says he loves me.

The admission, while unexpected, nearly had Diana bolting for the door. That raised the stakes to a level that was as overwhelming as it was warming. He loved her. She still couldn't believe it, didn't think Clark would ever say those words to her again or feel so undeserving upon hearing them. Because I can't bring myself to say them back.

And why couldn't she? Why couldn't Diana just let go and enjoy falling in love with Clark Kent all over again? Why couldn't she be just a woman and he just a man? It should be that simple. But it wasn't. Very little in Diana's life was simple.

Yet she did want, she did desire more . . . him. And perhaps one-day simplicity would return and the wings she'd once known would expand and lift her above the Gale force winds that threatened to hold her captive, to keep her prisoner in their mighty talons.

So when the nightmare came, as Diana knew it would, she held tightly to Clark and willed it to go away. And when he returned her embrace, kissing her forehead and saying, "Nothing will harm you as long as I'm here," the wraiths receded, slithering into the recesses of her mind. Once there, Diana slammed the door behind them and locked it, wishing and praying that, for once, there they would remain.

Then she smiled into Clark's chest, feeling safer than she had since Bruce had tucked her in for the night and promised to see her in the morning, Bruce, who Diana had loved and mourned. Bruce, who had run out of his library, not stopping to retrieve the very gun she'd held to Trevor tonight because he was thinking of only protecting Diana and his unborn child. Bruce, who had died the way he lived—loving, forceful, fearless. My Dark Knight.

But Bruce was gone and Diana remained. And while she mourned her deceased husband, knew she always would. Diana was no longer in love with him. No, that kind of love had waned in time, slowly and painfully but inevitably.

And what it left behind was a void, or so Diana had thought until Clark Kent reentered her life. Now, however, she wondered if what it left behind was space. Space to love another?

She didn't know, or perhaps she did but was too afraid, too unsure of her future to admit to such a truth—to herself or another.

To Diana's surprise and relief, the door remained locked, keeping the wraiths in and her mind free to dream of better things—like Brina and grass made of marshmallows.

Upon waking, the first sensation Diana felt was a warm body holding her. Eyes still closed, Diana fought against the déjà vu moment that had eased into her consciousness. Another morning. Another set of arms. She recalled that morning she'd awaken beside Bruce all too well, first thinking it was Clark who'd held her, perhaps even whispering his name in her sleepy delirium. Then reality had come smashing in, reminding Diana of who was comforting her and why. Then I did the unthinkable, the unforgivable.

She opened her eyes, lifted them and found Clark awake and gazing down at her. He was unaccountably handsome and his words of love ping ponged around in her head. So she smiled at him, feeling well rested, safe, and yes . . . loved.

He didn't return her smile, but his eyes did darken. The irises shifting from cornflower blue to a luminescent ultramarine. Then he was lifting up and over her, his large frame and steady hands guiding Diana onto her back. Just as swiftly, Clark's mouth was on hers.

Gentle yet firm, Diana immediately knew this was more than a good morning kiss, more than the kisses they'd shared thus far. No, this kiss ringed bells and set fires, waged wars and commanded armies. This kiss, this hot, demanding mingling of lips and tongues was meant to obliterate senses, heighten desire, and annihilate all opposing barriers.

And for seconds, maybe even dizzying minutes, Diana sank into the kiss, reveled in the power and wantonness of it.

Wrapping her arms around him, Diana opened her mouth more, granting Clark all the access he wanted, was demanding. And he wasted no time accepting the offer, plunging deep and repeatedly, stroking and sucking and milking moan after moan from her.

The abyss beckoned, crooning a ballad of sexual healing. And Diana so needed healing, so wanted to abandon caution and good judgment in exchange for selfish, even reckless pleasure in Clark's tempting arms, masterful mouth.

One hand drifted to a thigh, massaging, moving in an up and down motion that had Diana sinking her teeth into Clark's neck and biting in a spot she instinctively recalled brought him immeasurable pleasure.

He moaned.

She bit him again then gentled it with a lick then a kiss. Her body betrayed her, swamped as it was with denied craving, repressed need, her female system in a state of overload from Clark's carnal assault.

The hand crept higher. And higher. And higher. Reaching the juncture of her sex, the V of her thighs, Clark stroked the thin layer of her white panties.

One finger.

Two.

Three.

Her silk panties offered no resistance, but her mind did snap into place. The delayed light of warning began to blink—incessant and fire engine red.

With reluctance, Diana grabbed Clark's wrist.

The probing fingers stopped, and Diana's body swore vengeance against her mind, her conscience.

"What's wrong?"

Sliding from beneath him, Diana sat up. "I can't do this. I shouldn't be doing this."

Clark, on his side now, kissed her back through the slinky nightgown. "Why not?" He kissed her again, working his way from her waist, up her back and to her shoulders until he was sitting beside her, both of their legs over the foot of the bed, their feet caressing the lush beige carpet.

Thinking back to that morning with Bruce ten years ago, Diana couldn't stop the fresh wave of guilt. She'd made the wrong decision back then, had wound up hurting herself and Bruce. And, from the expression on Clark's face when she'd admitted to sleeping with Bruce on the heels of their breakup, Clark as well. Diana did not want to look back on this morning with regret or guilt.

Already feeling guilty for accepting Clark's overture and returning it full measure, to only call a halt to the growing intimacy, Diana didn't dare meet Clark's eyes. She had no desire to see the disappointment there.

"Is it too soon?"

Yes. Maybe. Hell, she didn't know.

"It's more than that."

"Look at me, Diana."

"No."

He lifted her chin and forced her eyes to his. The disappointment she'd expected to see wasn't there, but the love he'd professed to her the night before was.

"When will you understand that you can trust me?"

"I do trust you." It's me I don't trust . . . or the future. "I don't want to mess this up. I don't want us to make love now to only discover later that we made a huge mistake."

"Make love, huh, not sex?" Pushing her hair off a shoulder, Clark kissed her neck, lingering and pressing the words of, "I like the sound of that," into the heat he so easily enflamed. "I want that so much, Diana." Another kiss. "To make love to you." Kiss. "For hours and hours."

If it weren't for the memory of holding a gun to Steve's chest last night and how close she'd come to killing her friend, Diana would've given in to Clark and her body. Yet she did and she couldn't. Not yet.

"I don't yet deserve you."

That stopped his exploring mouth. He lifted his head, eyes registering confusion.

"My journey, remember? Until it's complete, I can't come to you the way that I am. You deserve better . . . and so do I."

Around the new and improved Clark Kent, Diana felt unclean. She didn't want to soil him, didn't want to infect him with her darkness. As it was, Clark had seen a side of her she'd wished he'd never known, and had laid down a threat to Steve she knew he would make good on. Diana didn't wish any of that ugliness on him. But if they made love now, if they crossed that line, there would be no going back. For either of us.

"You want to wait? Like we did during the first two summers we dated?"

She hadn't thought of it like that. "Yes, like then. We waited until the time was right. It's important that this time is right. Perfect."

"You know, Diana," Clark said, leaning in and kissing her lips, "we didn't go all the way during those summer months but we still managed to have quite a bit of fun."

Ahh, yes, how could she have forgotten those nights when she'd crept from her room and into his? She'd learned so much about her body, her likes and dislikes . . . and his.

The kiss deepened, her way of accepting his terms. And then that wonderfully, wandering hand was back, this time on her hip, slinking up and under her nightgown. Finding her chest, Clark began to play, stroking first one breast then the other.

A nipple.

The other.

Both.

Then his hand moved south, thumbing her bellybutton and then the spot right above it.

Diana stilled then tore her mouth from his.

Clark grazed the spot again and then again, his touch more curious than sensual.

"What is this?" He thumbed the upbraided skin again as he asked the question.

"You know, now stop touching it." She had forgotten. Dear god, how had Diana forgotten?

Clark's hand remained where it was. The arousal of only a moment ago replaced by the same look she'd seen last night when he spoke of having "a talk" with Steve. She didn't like it then and she disliked it even more now.

"Let me see."

Appalled by his request and a little frightened by the anger rolling off him, Diana tried to pull away. But Clark was having none of it. His other hand came up to her waist, pinning her in place.

"Let me."

She shook her head. No way. Diana had shown her scar to no one. Not Hippolyta. Not Donna. No one. And she wouldn't begin with Clark. Clark, the Boy Scout who wanted to be a part of her plan, Clark, who was her light, her joy, her goodness. She couldn't share her pain with him, open that dark door and let him in.

"No."

"Trust me."

How could she? Her walls had been good at hiding her internal scars. But this one, the scar that ran the breadth and depth of her heart and soul, was the center, the core, the Genesis of all the others. A physical wound that had closed but never healed.

"Trust me." A pleading whisper. "Let me in. Share your pain with me. You don't have to carry it alone. I'm here, Diana. I'll always be here for you."

Tears began to fall, and by the time he said, "I love you," she was lying on her back, eyes closed, heart pounding.

Inch by inch, Clark slid her nightgown upward until it bunched just under her breasts. With a single finger, he glided over the scar, the bullet wound.

"And your back?"

Diana knew what he was asking. Clark wanted to know if the bullet had gone straight through, leaving not only an entrance wound but an exit wound as well.

She nodded.

He swore – foul and with venom.

More tears fell.

Soft lips kissed her - her scar, the home to pain and a child's death. Another kiss. Worshipful and indomitably tender. Then wetness, drops on her stomach, her Genesis. Tears.

"I'm so sorry for what that bastard did to you, what he stole from your body, your life."

So was Diana, more than she could ever express.

"I understand you better now. Your drive. Your caution. Your strength."

She opened tear blurry eyes. "Do you?" Their eyes met, Clark's as watery as her own. "I won't stop. I can't."

"If I were you, neither could I."

Clark kissed her stomach again.

Lower.

Sensual.

Erotic.

And when he removed her panties, his warm mouth going to her sex, Diana knew, without a doubt, that Clark Kent was her New Genesis.

TO BE CONTINUED