The Lake Series Erotic Romance Bundle

  The Lake Series Erotic Romance Bundle

  Books 1-3

  The Lake

  The Morning After

  The Equinox

  By

  BELLA BENTLEY

  Edited by: Tameika Ortiz

  Cover Design: Springly, EroCovers

  Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content. It is intended only for age 18 and older.

  I was drawn to the pristine lake to heal. Like a deer naturally drawn to a brook of water, or a bird to a tree limb to rest his wings, I was pulled to the lake like a magnet.

  Being a college professor awarded me the much needed privilege of having a full month off in winter to do as I please, and of course, as well as nearly four months off in summer.

  The lake was the perfect place to spend my time.

  Nestled in thick forest trees, the smell of breathtaking foliage in the fall, fresh fallen snow and cozy chimney smoke in winter, blossoming life in the spring, and lazy summer evenings—all of this coupled with the sounds of nature and life—it was the perfect get away from the hustle and bustle in Boston, Massachusetts.

  “Why do you go up there all by yourself Professor Jacobs?” A lively, blonde asked me during the middle of my Medieval Literature class the week classes were to end for winter break. I was in the middle of writing on the chalkboard one of the questions for the written final exam:

  Question One: What does Chaucer’s sister, the mistress of John of Gaunt, the powerful brother of King Edward III, have to do with the influence of—when a boy hissed, “It’s because his wife died idiot. Do your research before you open up your pink lip-gloss mouth.”

  “It’s been a year and trust me, I research.” I heard the girl whisper back.

  I kept my fingers on the chalk but my firm grip made it snap in two, landing loudly on the rail below.

  Damn, chalkboards. When was the University ever going to upgrade to dry-erase boards?

  “Or maybe you should pay him a visit.” Another whispered and a few giggled.

  When I turned around to see who had whispered to the blonde about my situation, the class stared at me with frozen faces of mostly fear, like school children did after a fellow classmate hurled a spit wad on the back of the teacher’s neck and the entire class was at risk of detention or ten docked points from their test if no one fessed up. Many straightened up in their seats. A few bit their thumbnails. Faces mixed of curiosity, fright, pity, all stared at me, waiting for me to answer and I had to hold my breath and exhale before I spoke.

  Yoga taught me patience and how to be centered in the face of uncomfortable situations. I knew breathing was key. So I breathed.

  No, it wasn’t fair my wife died. I felt her presence with me every single day but I knew it was her time to move on. Had I not had the gift of intuition, of knowing very well of what lay on the other side of our time spectrum—the unseen spiritual realm—I would be a mess.

  But I knew in the blink of her eye on the other side, I would be with her again and we could create a new life together. This brought me great comfort. Days after she passed, she appeared to me in a dream and told me to find solace and healing at the lake—to center myself there because I was to write the next great literary series after I found healing. If I went to the Lake, she said I would find answers to my questions, plots for my stories, and whispers of genius dialogue. So I went.

  She often spoke to me telepathically, saying she loves it on the other side and that she can’t wait for me to join her. She said that time is a crazy “man-made/earth creation” and where she was, she saw all times in history at once.

  When I sleep, we go on dates again like we always did and catch up on each other’s day. Except now money isn’t a factor; neither is transportation. We fly, and not by airplane.

  A week after she passed, I had consumed a lot of whiskey and was out cold. But my subconscious was very much alive. I thought I was merely drunk when I saw her appear to me wearing her favorite satin gold dress she last wore when we attended the symphony.

  “Richard,” she softly said as she held out her glowing hand to me. “Come.”

  So I did. The instant her hand touched mine, in the blink of the eye I was flying at the speed of light over waters until I landed on the sand, rolling over, laughing.

  We made love on the sand and caught fish and cooked them over a fire she manifested from a spark formed by a snap of her fingers. It was purely magical. I enjoyed it all very much and drank it in, simmering each moment. Never wanting it to end. Never wanting the dream to end.

  But the funny thing is, when I woke up, I had sand in my toes and my fingers had black remains from the fire and the charred fish. That sobered me up in a flash.

  I immersed myself in the study of soul travel for days. I hardly slept, but after realizing that one needed to be rested to travel, I quickly adjusted the time that I spent studying in order to ensure I received the proper rest. The lake provided the much needed rest and focus.

  But really, there wasn’t too much to the soul traveling. It just required faith and openness. I had both. And sleep. I found myself going to bed earlier and earlier in hopes of more time with her while I slept.

  After a few weeks of this, she finally spoke to me during the day. Her giggle made me drop a glass of water. As I was cleaning up the mess, she said softly, “I’m not only just a dream away, I am a breath away. I’m here.”

  It was a spring morning and the windows were open carrying the fresh scent of blossoming life. I thought I was hearing things so I collapsed in the middle of my kitchen floor in shock. In damn fright, I let the fresh air clear my mind while I said out loud in false calmness. “You’re not hearing voices.”

  Then she spoke again.

  “You’re not losing your mind, Richard. It’s me. With you right now.”

  It took a while getting used to hearing her voices, I had to make sure I wasn’t loosing it or I wasn’t going mental. But I wasn’t. She was there with me. Sometimes she would leave traces of I love you written on the steamed mirror while I was in a shower. These moments comforted me and helped heal my broken heart. Other times, a leaf in the shape of a heart would be on my front porch. Our song always seemed to be playing on the radio.

  But she recently told me that her time was dwindling to an end for now, and her last quest was to help me move on before she can move on. She’s to visit some other planet and hopes to visit me once I’m settled to give me a fantastic story idea that will bring about the publishing breakthrough I’ve always desired and dreamt. But she won’t do so until I’ve found love again.

  That is the missing key.

  Supposedly, if I move on like she says, not only will my series do well, but it will turn into a famous TV series. So like a dog in search of its’ bone, like a cat hunts for a mouse, the proposition allured me. I would find love again so my wife and I can both move on. It’s a win-win situation she told me. But I won’t deny the fact that letting go is hard.

  So how was I to explain that to my freshman class at a Catholic university? That really, I was fine? That oh, “Don’t worry about me guys. My wife still talks to me every day. Her presence still comforts me and I’m in a good place. I appreciate your concern.” No, I’d be committed to the loony bin, no doubt!

  So I smiled. Like I always did. Like I always knew how to do. I was known around campus for my optimistic disposition so when she passed and my optimism remained, my colleagues thought I was depressed, and that I was masking my feelings. In denial.

  They thought it was strange to not take a sabbatical after she died. But again, they didn’t know what I knew about life and the
existence of the other side. They also didn’t know of the many days where my wife communicated to me that I should love more, have more sex with other women, and that it was okay with her. She joked that Solomon was the wisest man on earth and had over one thousand wives and concubines. That it would be okay to love someone again—or to relieve my needs. Whichever I preferred.

  But no one could replace my wife’s touch. And I just wasn’t ready for that, yet. After all, my wife had been my only lover. Since her passing, Richard Jr. had had zero action with another woman.

  I stared at the eager blonde. Victoria was her name. She had bright round blue eyes and sat at her desk pen straight. She wore a painted-on white tank top with her pink bra on display underneath. The shirt was so tight there was no room left for the imagination of her cup size, definitely a double D. I met her gaze without giving away that I was contemplating her breast size. Her pen played with her teeth, noticing I made eye contact with her, she grew very still and squirmed in her seat. I made her blush.

  “I go to the lake because it’s inspirational. While everyone is engaging in Christmas festivities, I have my writing, a dog and cat to keep my company. Just like any writer in the past needed…their whisky, their animals, the woods, and Mother Earth. While everyone else engages in the pagan root of Christmas celebrating Jesus, I’ll be celebrating my own life and the gift of life. I’ll celebrate Jesus’ real birth in April when he was really born.” I smiled and crossed my arms.

  A few students snickered while others looked to the left and right as if gauging others’ responses to see how they should respond to my statement. My classroom was always an open door class to honest raw discussion, a favorite among the students. The rumors circulated about my classes on campus and beyond, which was why it was hard for students to get into my class because of eager minds wanting to be in these novel discussions. That was my favorite part about my job—seeing the light bulbs go off in the students’ minds whenever they saw life in a new light. But there was one honest discussion that never took place in any of my classes—the death of my wife. No one had the courage to address the elephant in the room, and I never brought it up.

  “Yeah, but don’t you, like, miss her? Do you really think you should be alone all the time for so long?” The blonde bravely asked further.

  Why . . . do you want to join me? My man ego boomed but I ignored it.

  I wasn’t alone. I had the spirit of—

  Why don’t you ask her to join you? I quickly sucked air into my lungs. It was my wife’s voice. She did that at times. Ease drop in my class. Talk to me. Do things to let me know her presence was with me. It always comforted me. But asking another woman to join me, a sexy young woman, brought me discomfort especially when twenty sets of eyes watched my response me like a hawk.

  Come on, Richard. She clearly is in to you. And she’s pretty hot, too. If I were alive I’d . . .

  I quickly cleared my throat trying to silence my wife, not just for my sake, but for Richard Jr.’s sake. My wife was always adventurous sexually and I knew she was about to say she would want a threesome and I couldn’t handle that—not right now in front of the students.

  I walked back to the podium and looked down at my notes giving Richard Jr. the chance to recompose himself.

  “The final questions for your written final will be to explore how The Tales reflect diverse views of the Church in England. You have free reign here to explore whatever you want, but just know, I see past the B.S.” I smiled as a few students chuckled more.

  “And lastly, in Franklin’s Tale, Dorigen requests Aurelius to make rocks disappear. Although there is the underlying theme of moral freedom and keeping contracts in this text, I like to read between the lines. Some say Chaucer was a student of alchemy. Of magic. What do you think? This will also be a part of your written final.”

  “Way to make him uncomfortable.” A more reserved girl wearing black Ray-Ban reading glasses, who never spoke in class, fizzed with much passion in my defense.

  I kept my eyes down on my notes as if I didn’t hear the remark, but the blonde, Victoria, remained unaffected and shot back, “Well, I feel for him.”

  See Richard, she feels for you. Let her really feel you then.

  Enough with my wife’s enticing sexual remarks, I had to dismiss the class or I would really embarrass myself with Richard Jr. giving the class a surprise introduction. Opting for boxers instead of briefs today wasn’t good for the current predicament.

  The class cheerfully gathered their things and exited the room as I sat down in my chair behind the podium and straightened up my things.

  I couldn’t get to the lake quick enough. I ran my hand through my long, wavy, shaggy hair and fingered the inside of my tight collar, eager to unbutton the top, to breath a bit, when Victoria sauntered up to me.

  “It’s a shame you’re at the lake all by yourself.” She hugged her book and spiral close to her chest. She was a good student and I always enjoyed her creative writing.

  “Is it?” I quickly said as I absent mindlessly made my already perfect stacks of paper, more perfect.

  “Yes. It is. I’ve . . . . ” she bit her lower lip and her blue eyes watered as she looked to the ceiling. She sucked in air and then held it as she released the air through her nose. “Been meaning to tell you that . . . I’m sorry about your wife. I really am. I was hoping I could maybe stop by sometime during the break with some goodies maybe?”

  I was completely caught off guard by the term “goodies”. She seemed like a nice girl, truly. But when wearing tight tops and her incredibly glossy pink lip-gloss shimmering on lips that were smacking chewing gum as if making love to it—goodies . . . well, her goodies seemed entirely different than the type you buy at the market.

  “You know, brownies, maybe some bagels and muffins? I don’t know . . . dinner maybe?”

  I shook my head out of the daze of wondering what it would feel like to place my head between her breasts. God I was loosing it.

  I opened my jaw to speak but stopped once I heard:

  It’s fine Richard. I’m sending her to you. She’s a gift from me.

  My wife.

  I looked up at the ceiling trying to sort through everything that was happening. I took another look at this beautiful young woman in front of me. She shifted her book and notebook to her left arm, breasts full in sight now and smiled sweetly as if she knew what my wife just told me and was proving my wife correct.

  “My family actually has a cottage on the same lake.”

  “Really?” My hands made their way to my top collar button and I unbuttoned it with the speed of an Olympian.

  Oh if you only knew the things she wanted to do you.

  Loraine, come on. Please give me a break.

  No, you need to be pushed to swim again.

  “Uh huh. I wouldn’t be surprised if you heard us all the way across the lake. We’re a lively bunch. Dad is Latin and his family always comes over and plays their music loud and dances. Lots of drinking, too, which I like.” She winked.

  She’s half Latin, Richard. You know what that means. She’s vocal. She wants to shout your name.

  An image of a family dancing on the deck around a small bonfire warmed my heart and I equally fought the other image of her naked, body bouncing on top of me, screaming out in ecstasy.

  And then that was it. My soul leaped at the possibility and was shouting at me—say yes!

  “Oh, I know. Student teacher relationship. Totally get it. But, I graduate next week just so you know. I only took this class as an elective because you are all the students talk about on campus.” She shot me a daring look.

  I drew in my breath.

  Come on! Give her your address, silly.

  After scribbling down the address to my cabin, and seeing the joy sparkle on her face, as she walked out of my class, I couldn’t get to the lake fast enough. I needed a cold shower.

  Chapter Two

  The fire crackled as I read a book on my plush dow
n feather sofa in my living room at the lake. My whiskey was working its’ magic. I took a sip and stared out into the night through the floor to ceiling windows, past the stained deck and unto the moon’s reflection over the water. Paradise. The moon was nearly full as it shone brightly, fighting the thick clouds that tried to obscure its’ light. Rain appeared to be on the way.

  Yankee, my golden lab rested at the end of the couch with his nose nestled between my calves keeping me warm. No need for slippers when a giant fur ball emitted a hundred degree temperature as your personal heating pad.

  Boston, my black cat, curled up happily by the fire.

  There we were. The three of us each cozy in our spots as I read the latest greatest in the literary world. After taking a much well deserved break from working on my latest novel, a follow up to a Fantasy series, I lay listening to the sizzling fire thinking about my next plot development, even though I was supposed to be reading. It was hard to turn my overactive imagination off.

  You know, I have all the time in the world. It’s been a year, Richard. A day is like a thousand years where I am. I give you my blessing. If you want to be with another woman tonight, you can. I’m not the one holding you back.

  I sat up quickly, nearly spilling my whiskey at the sudden voice of my wife and the light knock at the door. Yankee galloped to the door, his claws making scratching noises across the bamboo wood floor. He happily investigated the visitor behind door number one, sniffing profusely. His bark echoed throughout the open room.

  I stood a little tipsy already, but nonetheless, relaxed. I scratched the back of my neck wondering who would be knocking at my house, at this hour, but at the prompting of my eager wife, I knew who it was. Victoria.

  Of course she was going to come. She said she would. I just didn’t expect—today. Tonight. My forefinger and thumb investigated the stubble on my chin. I hadn’t shaved in days. I looked down past my fleece sweats, unto my bare feet, and back to my white t-shirt and a scarf.

  She knocked again. “Professor Jacobs?”