• Carla Buchanan

BGGM Entry 13: Sunday December 27, 2026

This is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and happenings are solely products of the author’s imagination or fictitious retellings. Any likeness to actual events, locations, persons living or dead, is coincidental.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system - except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper - without permission in writing from the publisher.

**Readers 18 and up only please**.

I don’t remember leaving the hospital or telling anyone my address, so a car could take us to my apartment. I don’t remember giving anyone the code to get in the door of my apartment.

Despite my lack of memories, I wake up in my bedroom. The feeling is disorienting enough that for a moment; I think I might have dreamed about everything that has happened since finding the MV Generator. I then realize it could’ve very well all been a dream, but I know that’s not the case when the pillow under my head moans and stretches.


Everything that happened comes flooding back. The plane ride here, the wait at the hospital morgue, and finding out the body the park employees found was my father’s. Then to find out that the weapon used on him was probably a torture device from the slave world… I broke down. I cried and cursed Beaumont Lacoste. I made threats to kill him in the same manner he killed my father.

I want Beaumont and Laurent Lacoste to suffer until their bodies can take no more.

What makes me even angrier is that it was like Beau knew I’d escape from that world. It was like he was just waiting for me to return to receive my punishment.

I try to hold back my tears and lie there silently, not waking Valentine. As mad as I am at him and Kendall, I don’t really want to be alone in this moment. I want his arms around me; I want him holding me; I want him telling me everything is going to be okay, even though I know it’s never going to be okay again.

“Chris?” I hear him inquire, the one word asking so much. He’s asking me if I’m okay, asking me what he can do, asking me what I need…

Honestly, I don’t know where to start or what to say, so I say nothing. I ignore my tears and turn my head until my lips press against Valentine’s bare chest.

Valentine doesn’t respond. I doubt he even realizes what I’m doing yet.

I kiss him again. And again. And again. Valentine still doesn’t respond, but his stomach muscles tighten where my hand is splayed against its muscled surface.

“Chris,” Valentine rasps out, his voice strained like he might lose control at any moment.

“Don’t say no,” I whisper, since I know that’s what he was about to do. Taking the choice out of his hands, and putting them in mine, one of my hands covers his hardened length through his boxer-briefs as I use the other to help me inch upward.

I don’t bother asking why he’s only in his boxers and I’m only in my bra and panties, guessing that Valentine tried to make me as comfortable as possible, so I’d sleep as long as possible. The light outside the room’s window suggests it’s a new day, so his plan went as expected. But the fact I’m sad and mourning doesn’t mean I can’t make this decision.

My lips and tongue make contact with the lobe of Valentine’s ear at the same time my hand finds its way into his boxers. “Please… Make love to me. Make love to your wife, Valentine.”

The words are enough. Valentine curses and takes my lips, both of his hands cupping my face. My hand gets trapped between us when we face each other, and the position makes my grip firmer. Valentine curses again, the foul word against my lips turning me on more. It’s the kind of kiss that holds passion, unsaid words, one my weary and tired soul can melt into. It’s the kind of kiss that involves my entire body and every bit of my mind.

My hand continues to grip him, the length of him warm and hard as I caress the flesh.

“As much as I love what you’re doing, I won’t last long if you keep doing that,” Valentine says against my lips at the same time his fingers wrap around my wrist.

Gently pushing me to my back, Valentine climbs atop me until he’s hovering above me. The covers of the bed are still over his back, making him appear threatening in the most sensual of ways. I feel cocooned in comfort and security and love as he hovers above me, and I feel sexy and desirable with his eyes raking over my body like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you,” Valentine proclaims and then ascends, pressing his soft, warm lips to the middle of my belly. The action is gentle and slow, like he’s savoring the moment.

Moving upward, Valentine takes his time, pressing his lips along the heated expanse of my skin. When he gets to the lacy fabric of my flesh-toned bra, he peels the cup aside. He groans, and I arch upward into everything hard about him as his lips cover one nipple.

I desperately need more of him, and squirm trying to relieve some of the building pressure, but Valentine continues to bring my nipple to a hard peak, ignoring my body’s pleading. He instead uses his knee to push my legs apart, so I’m no longer able to grind against him the way I want.

With my legs apart, Valentine can slide a hand between us. His hand is hot on my belly as he glides it downward and under the band of my panties.

His nimble fingers part me. They dip into my moisture, easily gliding through. A heavy sigh leaves my lips, and my eyes flutter open to meet his. As soon as I do, he asks, “And you’re sure?”


The tone of his words is dripping with what he feels for me, letting me know he hopes I won’t say no.

I won’t say no. And I know my reasons for not saying no are ones that should make me say no. I want to forget. I want to think about anything else but my father’s death. I want to feel good without feeling guilty. What better way than to make love to the man I married, the only man I have ever truly loved as a friend and partner?

“Please don’t stop.”

My begging goes ignored because Valentine does stop. But he doesn’t stop because he’s going to walk away. He kisses me on the lips, deeply and passionately, before removing himself from me completely. I get a chill with the cover gone, and I groan out a protest. Valentine chuckles. To placate me, he lifts my leg and presses his lips to my ankle. He doesn’t stop kissing me, his lips trailing up my leg until he’s back on the bed with me again and teasing me through my panties.

“V…” I rasp out, never having been this desperate while with Beau. I try not to think about what my desperation might mean because, honestly, as much as I love Valentine, this act isn’t about love. This action is about need, about desperation, about an escape from my reality. Though, despite those things, I also feel loved and comforted and wanted.

“I’m right here, Chris,” Valentine affirms as his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties. He pulls them down, this time pressing his lips slowly down the other leg. Then, in a motion quicker than any of his previous actions, he buries his face between my legs.

I gasp and arch and twist my fingers into the sheet beneath me. Valentine enjoys my response, the exploration of his tongue through my sex becoming less gentle with each pleasured sound that drips from my lips.

Valentine is in full control of my pleasure, taking my hands, one at a time, placing them on his head. He then pulls himself as close as possible, turning ravenous as if he’s on death row and I’m his last meal before execution.

My legs end up draped over Valentine’s shoulders with the lower half of my body off the bed. Valentine devours my sex with an enthusiasm that makes love and lust fill my brain until I can think of nothing else.

It’s exactly what I want and need right now.

Valentine is surprising me with how he masterfully brings me to the brink of release, stops, and then does it again. On our wedding night, the first and last time I had sex with him, we both fumbled through the event. At that time, I was discouraged since I didn’t see what all the fuss was about, and was sure I was going to be one of those women who didn’t care about sex. Even with Beau, the sex was vanilla and routine, which left me thinking that most people lie about how good it can be.

But now I get it. I understand how someone could get addicted and allow themselves to obsess over someone once they’ve slept with them. I could become obsessed with the way Valentine worships my body.

I could become obsessed with Valentine Trudeau.

That thought sends me over the edge, my release shooting through every part of me and making me cry out my pleasure. Valentine quickly leaves my lower half, pushing his boxers down and climbing onto the bed with me in one swift motion. He covers my lips, but he’s too late to muffle the sound. I’m sure my brother heard us and will probably mention it later.

He does manage to swallow the large gasp I make when he enters me, even though his low, animalistic groan vibrates throughout my small bedroom. However, when he’s buried himself deep inside me, he doesn’t start moving again.

We both lie there, intimately connected, our hearts beating against each other's chests erratically like they are fighting to get in sync.

“Marry me,” Valentine says and my entire body tenses for some reason.

“We’re already married,” I return, even though I know what he means. He wants us to be a couple that is legitimate, not just in the eyes of the law. He wants our neighbors, friends, and fellow Anson Valley residents to respect our relationship for the adults we’ve become, not the naïve teenagers in love for the first time, making selfish and irrational decisions.

Valentine’s response is a searing kiss and a slow and deep thrust of his hips. I sigh out a moan and feel my core drench him with desire.

Valentine asks, thrusting again when I don’t respond quick enough. Harder this time. His lips leave my lips, and his tongue trails a heated path along my jaw. I shiver, and he groans when my slippery walls clench around him. He’s igniting the lingering embers of my first release, drawing me to heights of passion and pleasure I’ve never experienced before.

Valentine dives deeper, and my fingers clench tighter to the tight, hard muscles of his back. I meet him thrust for thrust, getting closer to another release when he suddenly stops.

“Ugh…” I protest his stillness, but he chuckles at my impatience. I ignore him, sliding my hands down Valentine’s back to get as close to his ass as my arms will allow. I try to make him move by pushing on his tight ass, but he’s too strong.

Pinning me beneath him with all of his weight, Valentine then removes my hands and places them above my head. The feel of all of him on me, in me, consuming me in a way that soothes and calms my soul is a memory I will carry with me forever.

“Is that a yes?” Valentine asks, his lips teasing me when they wrap around the lobe of my ear.

When I answer his question, I’m honest, since it’s what I want. However, I’m not sure that once everything is said and done, Valentine will still want to go through with a wedding.

I don’t know if I’ll be alive to be able to go through with a wedding if I don’t somehow outsmart my ex-fiancé.

But what happens to me isn’t important. I owe this to my mother and father. I owe them the justice they deserve, even if it means sacrificing myself and my own happy ending with Valentine.

Despite my thoughts, I still say, “Yes.”

The word is a gasp of pleasure that follows with us both tumbling over the edge of the cliff, that one word a declaration of love, a promise, an assurance, the beginning of our future together…

Or at least that’s what I hope.


I can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to Valentine Trudeau for a second time in my life, so I don’t. I extract my naked body from his hold and cautiously make my way over to the bathroom, doing so without waking Valentine from his nap.

I know where I need to go, how Beau will find me without involving my brother or Valentine. I don’t want them involved any more than they already have been because I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed.

That one word - killed - makes me think about my father. The thought strengthens my convictions and I want to get justice as much as I need answers about my mother.

Instead of falling apart again, I move a little faster. I speed through my morning routine, but don’t skimp on the details. There’s power in feeling confident, and my confidence is always bolstered by looking and feeling put together. I’m going to need all the confidence I can get when it’s time to face Beau again.

I think I hear a noise outside the bathroom door, but when I peek out Valentine has just shifted into a new position. I stare at his form for a few moments, admiring him in a way I never have before. My husband, he’s beautiful, in the most masculine of ways. He has smooth, dark brown skin, he has the physique of an athlete at the height of their career. He has the most luscious lips I have ever seen on a man, the thought of which makes me shiver with desire.

Blowing out a breath, I slip back into the bathroom. My closet is through a door at the back of the bathroom, and on the other side of my closet is another door. I use that door once I’m dressed, crossing through the small laundry room. I end up at the rear entrance of my apartment, but I’m not alone. Blocking my exit is Valentine’s large shirtless body. He has his arms crossed over his chest and a knowing expression on his face.

“You were going to go try to find him? Without telling anyone?”

He already knows the answers to those questions, so I don’t bother acknowledging them. “You wouldn’t understand,” I say instead. “This is my fault. I never even wanted to marry Beau. Had I not been a coward and said no to him, then he would’ve been out of my life weeks ago.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Valentine says. “That asshole would’ve done this no matter what. And had you not said yes, he might’ve acted back then and no one would’ve known it had anything to do with the MV Generator or your mother or the Lacostes.”

I shake my head. “It’s still my fault. Beau is obsessed with me,” I say, pointing to my chest. “He’s doing this stuff because of me. My father is dead because of me, and I need to make it all right.” Valentine’s eyes fill with pity. He reaches for me, but I shake my head and step back. “I have to find him,” I say, talking about Beau.

“You will. Your brother and I will help,” Valentine assures me, and this time I let him take me into his arms. “But first we need to take your father home and lay him to rest, don’t you think?”

I don’t think that. There’s no way I’ll be able to quiet my mind long enough to plan a funeral. I need to do something now. I need to find Beau and make him pay for what he and his family have done to mine.

“I’m sorry, V. But no… I don’t agree. No one would ever believe the truth, so it’s up to me to make sure the Lacostes suffer as much as we all have.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Valentine asks like he can’t believe what I’m saying. “You’re not a person who seeks revenge,” Valentine says. He pulls away from me, holding me steady by my shoulders. Our eyes meet and I can tell how much he wants me to listen to and believe him. “You aren’t like Beau or his father or his mother. You’re the same person who let me walk away less than twenty-four hours after we were married so I could go and be a good father to Breanna. You’re a good person and I’ve always known you to make rational decisions. This isn’t rational, Chris.”

I bark out a laugh and step away. “You don’t know me at all. We haven’t been together in a decade, so don’t try to act like you know me. I’m not some good person who makes rational decisions,” I tell him. “I’m not the victim here. I create victims. I…” A sob breaks, and guilt assaults me. In my heart I know he’s not Breanna’s father, but I can’t stand the thought of telling him, not even if it gets him to let me go. However, there is something else I can say. It’s something that will break his heart just as much and get him to let me go. But even though his heart will be broken by me, it won’t be broken by tainted thoughts of the daughter he loves.

“Chris… no….”

I back away. Despite my tears, I don’t want Valentine to comfort me anymore. If he comforts me, I won’t be able to say what I need to say to him.

“I’m so sorry, V. I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was. I’m sorry I’m not as good as you.”

“Why did you agree to marry me again? What was this morning? A goodbye fuck?” Valentine asks harshly, making me wince from hearing him speak to me that way.

I was hoping he wouldn’t mention this morning, but I should’ve known better. I also shouldn’t be surprised at his anger. I shake my head and shove out a breath that shakes as much as my head does.

“I slept with him, V,” I say, taking advantage of his building anger.

“I’m sure he forced you,” Valentine returns, and I’m confused by his response.


“Beau. When you were on the slave world. I’m sure he forced you to be with him,” Valentine explains, making my shoulders sag in despair. He doesn’t get it, so I’m going to have to be absolutely clear.

“I didn’t sleep with Beau. He tried to… That’s not important. It didn’t happen, and I got away. I wasn’t forced to sleep with #2. That was my choice. It was a drunken choice, but one I won’t deny I made,” I say and quickly add, “See… I’m not a good person. So just let me go. Let me go do what I need to do,” I say, even though I do not know what my plan is at this point. I just know I need to find Beau, make him tell me if my mother is alive, and agree to do anything he says to get her back.

And then kill him.

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