Iron Princess (Iron Palace Book 2)

by Lisa Ferrari

  “Did he talk to you?”

  “Not really. He pretty much ignored me so I did the same to him. But that was when I started eating.”

  “Eating?”

  “Yeah. Big time. Every day after school. At night before bed. I used to sneak cookies and stuff into my bedroom and eat them when I was watching TV. Twinkies, Zingers, Ho-ho’s, Suzie Q’s, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Oreos, Chips Ahoy… all the stuff my mom bought for our school lunches. My mom can be a real bitch but God bless her because she got up every morning and made breakfast for me and Beth and packed a lunch for us. ‘Beth and me.’

  “I remember taking an entire bag of Mother’s Cookies into my room one night after everyone was in bed, the white and pink frosted ones shaped like little animals, with those crunchy, hard little balls on them. I watched Karate Kid and Adventures in Babysitting on cable and ate the whole bag. I think my mom knew I was eating more because a few times she complained that her grocery bill had gone up. Plus I gained ten pounds in about a month.”

  “Wasn’t that a red flag? That something had happened to you?”

  “You would think so. But no one ever said anything. I guess they just thought I was going to be fat. That I was hitting puberty and it was all hormonal. But my mom wasn’t fat. My dad wasn’t fat. Beth wasn’t fat. I didn’t understand it at the time, but, looking back, I see how I was protecting myself. Everybody knows this stuff these days. It’s like Day One of Psyche 101, ‘Basic Defense Mechanisms’. You turned to bodybuilding and I turned to food. If I was fat and unattractive, I wouldn’t have to worry about men looking at me or being attracted to me. I wouldn’t have to worry about that happening again. And yet, at the same time, I’ve spent my whole life pining for love and affection. Both physical and emotional, which is exactly what I was simultaneously trying to avoid. The avoidance caused the weight gain, yet I’ve been struggling to lose weight my whole life. It’s such a fucked up contradiction.”

  “Cognitive dissonance.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s when we hold two competing, incompatible ideas in our head at the same time. So, did you ever tell anyone? Your mom or Beth?”

  “Nope. No one.”

  “Not even Denise?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought about it a whole bunch of times and I almost did on a couple of occasions. But Denise was always making comments about women who’d been raped somehow deserving it. I’ve always suspected something like that happened to her and she was shamed into thinking she’d somehow deserved it, and whenever she made a comment like that, she was trying to convince herself, to reinforce the lie she’d been made to believe. But I never asked. And it didn’t seem safe for me to confide in her so I never did.”

  “Am I the first person you’ve told?”

  I nod. “Yes. Am I the first person you’ve told?”

  Kellan nods. “Yes.”

  Kellan and I grab one another, seizing each other and holding on tight. So tight I can barely breathe.

  I EVENTUALLY STAND and lead Kellan into the shower.

  I wash him, scrubbing him gently with the purple shower poof thing, lathering his beautiful body with my favorite coconut body wash, cleaning him, cleansing him.

  Once I’ve rinsed him, Kellan takes the loofah and does the same to me.

  We dry off and climb into bed together.

  We make love.

  Our union is…different.

  Soft.

  Gentle.

  It’s intimate in a way it’s never been.

  We fall asleep together afterwards. I sleep better than I have in my entire life.

  WE AWAKEN IN the morning, refreshed and relaxed.

  We don’t fly out of bed to pound coffee and do our morning cardio.

  Kellan puts on a white terrycloth robe and brings one for me too. They aren’t from the hotel with the lighthouse, but they’re every bit as plush and comfy.

  We go to the kitchen together and leisurely prepare breakfast. I make eggs while Kellan washes blueberries and slices a fresh whole pineapple.

  We don’t talk much. We comfortably share silence.

  After we eat, we dress and go for a drive in my little red Pontiac, leisurely, like breakfast. We hold hands while we drive, with the top down and the heater blasting to keep the cold at bay. It feels good. The sun is shining. It’s a good day.

  We go to the Galleria and Kellan holds my hand as we stroll through the mall, enjoying the Christmas decorations and the festive atmosphere, the Christmas carols playing, and everyone shopping. We even sit on Santa’s lap and get our picture taken. I sit on one of Santa’s legs and Kellan sits on the other.

  “Hey, aren’t you Kellan Kearns?” Santa asks from under his bushy white beard. “Wait, you’re Claire Valentine. Holy shit! Oh, uh, um…” he makes his voice deep, “what would you like for Christmas little girl?”

  I gaze at Kellan. “I already have everything I need.”

  Santa turns to Kellan.

  “Me too.”

  Santa pulls his smartphone out of his pocket and takes a selfie with us. “Cool. You guys are awesome. Have a good Christmas, okay? And fuck the haters.”

  He gets a little overzealous and some of the mothers hear him.

  “Merr-ree Chriss-mas!” he calls out, returning to his Santa persona once more.

  Kellan and I take our $65 framed 11x13 hi-res photo of ourselves sitting on Santa’s lap.

  We go to a coffee shop and order Americanos and dump stevia and cinnamon in them. We sit at a corner table by the window. Kellan holds my hand. We enjoy the photo and the atmosphere.

  A few minutes later, Santa’s pic pops up on Instagram and we’re both tagged. The photo gets almost 10,000 likes and more than 3,000 comments in a matter of minutes. Most are positive, saying how cute we are. We ignore the not-so-positive ones. The hashtag #fuckthehaters is repeated many, many times.

  WE DEPART THE mall and drive to a Christmas tree lot. We pick out a ten-foot Christmas tree. Kellan recommends a Douglas fir because they have the best smell. He gives the high school kid a hundred bucks to deliver it to our house, since there’s no rational way of transporting it in the Solstice. Kellan says he’s going to buy an SUV or a big black truck like the Rock drives, or maybe a Ford Raptor, because he’s tired of never being able to haul stuff, which is a fundamental component of manhood. He tempers his statement with the reality that, once you own a pickup truck, friends you never knew you had crawl out of the woodwork and ask you to help them move.

  I add that friends help you move; but real friends help you move bodies.

  WE DRIVE TO Target and go crazy buying Christmas lights and ornaments for the tree. By the time we’re back home, the guy arrives with the tree. He’s already attached a stand to the trunk, along with a long funnel-tube thing that makes it easy to pour water into the stand every few days.

  Kellan and I have so much fun decorating the tree, wrapping it with lights and hanging colored glass balls and bubble-lights on it. Kellan has several totes in the garage that we bring in. They’re full of Christmas decorations he’s accumulated. He even has a beautiful angel that lights up. He climbs the ladder and places her at the very top of the tree.

  When we’re finished, we stand back and admire our work. The tree is quite large. It seems a lot bigger here in the living room than it did at the Christmas tree lot.

  But it smells so good. Already the house is filling up with the sweet scent.

  Christmas tree is one of my most beloved fragrances, along with the smell of freshly-made waffle cones, as well as It’s a Small World and Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland, which Kellan pointed out to me. He explained that the Disney Imagineers actually created and patented a machine that delivers specific scents in different areas of the Magic Kingdom because the sense of smell is so powerful.

  Kellan massages my shoulders as we take in the majesty of our glorious tree. It feels so, so good. He kisses my neck, sendin
g chills all through me and eliciting heat between my thighs. I reach behind me and start rubbing him through his jeans.

  Minutes later he’s on top of me, inside me, making love to me in front of the tree. And then I’m on top of him, making love to him, and the Christmas tree lights sparkle in his blue, blue eyes. We kiss passionately and with an intensity and hunger I’ve never known. Kellan’s tongue fills my mouth, soft and warm. I suck on it. I can’t get enough. I’m virtually fellating Kellan’s tongue and we’re staring into each other’s eyes. Kellan moans and his brow furrows. He stops breathing. His entire body flexes, lifting me up, and I feel the heat of his climax filling me. My orgasm is a natural response, a reflex, and I hold my breath, with Kellan’s tongue in my mouth, until at last we both gasp for air as we shudder together, coming down from our shared orgasm.

  I lie on Kellan’s chest, spent, my arms and legs limp and dangly.

  Kellan is still inside me. I love that.

  He begins to snore lightly. He’s asleep. That means his orgasm was really, really good.

  There is nowhere else I’d rather be.

  KELLAN SLEEPS WHILE I ponder the meaning of life…

  …The past, the present, the future… wormholes… Contact… Event Horizon… Sam Neil… Jurassic Park… Jeff Goldblum… Independence Day… aliens… Alien… Aliens, Sigourney Weaver… James Cameron… Avatar… Giovanni Ribisi… Saving Private Ryan… Friends… Chandler Bing (bing!)… Ms. Chanandler Bong… Morgan Fairchild… Lasting Kiss lipstick (do they still sell that?)… the Mister Beaumont… the Aventador… Kellan… the love of my life.

  My mind wanders freely. I think about my life and what it means and everything that’s happened in the past few months.

  And everything that may or may not happen in the future.

  I ponder the abuse Kellan endured as a boy. I wonder what it must’ve been like. I’m glad his grandmother found out and put a stop to it. Imagine discovering that your son was molesting your grandson.

  Before I can go too far down the rabbit hole, Kellan stirs and awakens. He stretches his arms over his head and flexes his legs. I sit up and reach back to put my hands on his quads. They’re rock hard.

  Kellan is still inside me and I wiggle my hips.

  He gasps and starts to get hard. “Again?”

  “Can you?”

  “I don’t know. Keep doing that and we’ll find out.”

  I work my hips, riding him, feeling him get hard inside me. God I love that.

  Kellan sits up, cups my breasts in his hands and proceeds to devour them, kissing and licking and sucking.

  Five minutes later I’m coming uncontrollably.

  I SIT IN Kellan’s lap and he holds me, rubbing my back and kissing me gently all over my body while I come down.

  “Was that good?” he asks.

  I put on my Ricky Bobby voice, “Very good.”

  Kellan laughs.

  “Did you come?” I ask. I’m pretty sure he didn’t. I didn’t hear or feel anything.

  “No.”

  “Did you want to?”

  “Um, not necessarily. I enjoyed watching you. Don’t worry about me. Sex shouldn’t be about orgasm, anyway. If you focus entirely on having an orgasm, you’ll get all twisted up in your head and you won’t be able to. It’s better to just enjoy being together and let it happen naturally.”

  “I know. But I want you to come, too.” I make fists in his hair and gently but playfully pull his head back so I can bite his neck.

  Kellan gasps and moans. He likes it when I bite his neck. But who doesn’t?

  I feel him getting hard inside me.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “It might take me awhile.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay.”

  Kellan somehow manages to stand up while I’m still sitting in his lap. He’s so strong he can lift me like I’m as light as a feather. I love that. I’ve always outweighed my quote-unquote boyfriends.

  Kellan cradles my butt as he carries me to the kitchen. He sits me on the kitchen island. I wrap my legs around him.

  “No, no,” he says. “Get on your hands and knees.”

  “Here?”

  “Yep.”

  Kellan hops up onto the island and gets behind me.

  I look over my shoulder at him. His erection is straining upward, long and thick and hard. Ooh, I want it inside me.

  “This way,” Kellan says, “whenever I’m preparing food or making coffee or whatever, I’ll stand here at the island and will recall fondly the evening in December when we decorated our first Christmas tree together and made love on the kitchen island, where I schtupped your brains out.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to schtup my brains out?”

  “You ready?”

  “God yes.”

  Kellan scoots up behind me and rubs his big, strong, warm hands all over my back and buttocks. He reaches around and cups my hanging breasts. He rolls my nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, tugging on them.

  “Oh, God, Kellan…”

  “Does that feel good?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I feel Kellan’s penis resting on the cleft of my buttocks. I wonder if he’s going to take me anally. Maybe with olive oil.

  Kellan takes himself in his hand and slides the head up and down my vagina, teasing my opening and rubbing it against my clit.

  I look over my shoulder at him. The halogen lights overhead cast a warm orange glow upon his godlike physique, highlighting his muscles. He looks huge. “Pretend you’re Christian Grey and I’m Anastasia Steele.”

  “Um, okay…”

  “The first time they did it, Christian told her he doesn’t make love; he fucks; hard. And then he shoved himself in her hard and fast and deep, pulling out and plunging back into her hard and fast over and over again.”

  “I see. Like this?”

  I wait anxiously for Kellan to penetrate me.

  Just as I’m wondering what he’s waiting for, he thrusts into me. Deep. Fast. Hard.

  I cry out. Partly in surprise but mostly in ecstasy.

  “Did that hurt?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Kellan pulls out completely.

  I wait.

  He slams into me again.

  Again I cry out.

  Wow.

  I’ve always thought getting pounded nonstop like a jackrabbit on crack was the way to go. But this delay technique is positively scrumptious. I’m going to whip up a spec article about it and send it to Cosmo. If I include a photo of Kellan, they’ll run it for sure.

  But then I remember how much I loathe journalism. And how I am keeping Kellan entirely for myself.

  Kellan withdraws again and I wait.

  He times it perfectly, thrusting deeply into me just as I’m wondering when it’s coming.

  A few more of those and I think I might come.

  “You like that, Claire?”

  “Yes, Kellan. Keep going.” I’m tempted to rub my clitoris. But I refrain.

  Kellan withdraws and slams into me.

  Then again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I’m right on the precipice. One more and I’ll explode. I can feel myself beginning to contract around him. “Don’t stop. I’m so close…”

  My head is down on the island. I feel the wood cool on my forehead. I smell coffee grounds.

  “Like this?” Kellan pulls out and shoves himself back in.

  My orgasm starts but retreats.

  Kellan quickly pulls out and shoves it back in.

  My orgasm builds further, right on the edge, so close, not quite commencing.

  Kellan impales me again. He holds very still inside me.

  All my muscles are flexing slowly, pulsating once every four or five seconds. I feel like I’m about to come apart. Or faint.

  I wait for Kellan to pull out and dive back in, but he doesn’t.
/>   I moan with longing.

  Kellan remains inside me, perfectly still.

  I start to come down, taking a step back from the edge of ecstasy on which I’ve been teetering so deliciously.

  I feel Kellan flex inside me. He grunts several times, flexing.

  It takes my breath away. It almost makes me come.

  “Are you close?” he asks.

  “Yes!” I moan into the counter top. My ass is in the air. I want to stick it out higher and further so he can fill me up.

  “Good.”

  Kellan repeats the whole process, pulling out and slamming into me again a bunch of times. He pauses in between, sending me right to the edge once more, but even higher. Then higher. And then higher still.

  I want to scream. I want to moan. I want to explode. I’ve never wanted to orgasm so badly in my entire life.

  Minutes later, many, many, many minutes later, I’ve a heaving, quivering mess.

  My own wetness is literally dripping down the insides of my thighs. I’m completely soaked. I see my juices covering Kellan’s testes and scrotum. I’m lightheaded. I think I may be hyperventilating. My hands are numb. My face is numb. I’m moaning loudly with each breath I take.

  I’ve never been this horny.

  Ever.

  I push my hips back against Kellan, trying to get him to fuck me, to give me what I need, but he holds fast to my hips, remaining inside me, teasing me, keeping me on the edge of a cliff so high and so sensual I’m not sure what’s going to happen.

  My body has never felt this way before.

  No one has ever taken the time to bring me to heights such as this.

  I want it to stop, I need it to stop, I need to come, really, really, really hard so I can have my release. Yet I never want it to end.

  I think I’m about to pass out. That’s all I need: to roll off the counter and hit my head on the kitchen floor and wake up in the hospital naked and concussed, surrounded by sniggering medical staff. A picture of me in a hospital gown lying in a hospital bed would be on Instagram in about ten seconds. Hashtag #SchtuppedIntoAComa. Hashtag #WhatAWayToGo.

  “You okay?” Kellan asks.

  “Nnn.” All I can do is grunt. My cheek is flat against the wooden countertop. My arms are splayed out, limp.

  “Good. Hold on.”

  Kellan pounds me.