Knight

Chapter Seven Cornucopia of Feminine Delights

Tuesday afternoon, I was in the file room at work when my kickass, space age phone rang and I saw the display said, “Knight”.

He’d called the day before (he obviously had my number since he bought my phone). I programmed him in after he called, and he’d done it late, ten thirty. I was already in bed reading or trying to read and trying not to be disappointed he hadn’t called or, alternately, pissed he hadn’t. I answered thinking I shouldn’t since it seemed he was playing me because I figured he called that late because he was, well, playing me.

But he wasn’t. I knew this instantly when I heard the club sounds in the background so loud I could barely hear him. And his first words were a short but succinct description of the fact he’d had “shit come up all day” and he had little time to talk right then but wanted to “connect” with me. The growly factor of his voice was at the upper levels in my limited experience so I knew this was frustrating as was the fact our current conversation had to be short, hurried and, on his part, growled very loudly.

Now it was an hour and half until quitting time, not even twenty-four hours since his last call which, in the Jerk Player Handbook garnered severe penalties unless you weren’t a Jerk Player.

I took the call, put it to my ear and said softly, “Hey.”

“Hey, baby,” he said softly back and that tingle hit my spine and spread north again. Then it stopped when he asked bizarrely, “Who’s Dick?”

“Pardon?”

“Dick. Who is he?”

“Uh…” I mumbled, thrown by a question I didn’t understand and thus not knowing the answer.

“Neighbor, babe,” he clarified.

“Oh,” light dawned, “Dick.”

“Yeah. Dick. Who is he?”

Suddenly I thought our conversation was not only strange but funny.

I didn’t share this. I just asked, “How do you know Dick?”

“I don’t know Dick but that isn’t what we’re talkin’ about. We’re talkin’ about how you do.”

“He’s my neighbor. He lives across the hall from me,” I explained.

“A friend?”

What was this about?

“Uh… no. And now I know you don’t know Dick because if you did, you wouldn’t ask that. Now, why are you asking about Dick?”

“Sent some shit to your house. Last time with the phone, sent Kathleen. She’s got it goin’ on but she’s got so much goin’ on, sometimes she doesn’t pay attention to outside shit. She said the call system was reactivated and she just kept hitting directory buttons until someone picked up and would accept delivery. Since she was busy, she didn’t pay a lot of attention to who accepted it. The boy I sent with the shit today did the same but he’s a guy and for certain things, guys get unbusy. He got Dick so he got unbusy seein’ as he did not like Dick. He also did not like how excited Dick got about accepting a delivery for you. Luckily, some guy called Charlie came up while my boy was gettin’ acquainted with Dick, said he was the maintenance guy, had a passkey and would put the shit in your place. He told Dick to take a hike and after Dick took off, Charlie told my boy that if he had more stuff for you that he should not, under any circumstances, hand it off to Dick. Then he gave him his contact details as well as a list of people in your building who he would trust to take deliveries. My boy reported this to me so I’d like to know about Dick.”

God I loved Charlie.

And I also wondered what “shit” Knight was delivering.

I wondered too long, clearly, and I knew this when Knight’s voice came at me impatiently, “Anya. Clue me in on Dick.”

“Dick is that burden every single girl living on her own in a slightly seedy apartment complex endures. He’s the creepy, out of work neighbor who lives across the way.”

“He make you uncomfortable?”

“Uh… yeah. He’s Dick.”

“Then it’s time Dick moved.”

My body went completely still but somehow I managed to get my mouth to force out, “What?”

“It’s time… Dick… moved.”

His smooth deep voice was not firm.

It was steel.

“Knight –” I whispered.

Knight cut me off, “I’ll send a boy today to share with Dick his new relocation plans. I’ll also call you later. When’s your last client leave?”

I blinked repeatedly at the tall, square counter where I did my filing and didn’t speak.

“Anya, babe, someone needs me. When’s your last client leave?”

“Nine, she doesn’t feel chatty,” I said breathily. “Nine thirty more regularly after she shares a glass of wine with me.”

“I’ll call you after nine thirty. Later, baby.”

Then he was gone.

I dropped my hand with the phone to the counter I was still staring at.

Dick had relocation plans because Knight didn’t like me living across the hall from someone creepy.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

“What?” Beth, one of the front desk ladies asked, walking in.

I looked to her and whispered, “Nothing.”

She stared at me then moved to me and peered closer. “Jeez, Anya. Is everything okay?”

And to that, in the throes of understandable temporary insanity, I blurted, “I have a new boyfriend. He’s awesome. Protective. And scary. And he regularly freaks me out by being all of those at once.”

Her face spread in a huge grin. “You have a new boyfriend?”

“A new boyfriend who’s awesome, protective and scary. A lot of the time mostly the last.”

“Cool,” she said like she didn’t hear me, or, I should say, she selectively heard me.

“Beth, I said he’s scary,” I reminded her.

“Girlfriend,” she said, flipping her hand in the air, “count your blessings. Any dude hooked to you has got to have more than his fair share of scary. He doesn’t, new scary, awesome, protective guy will steal you right out from under his nose. So, my advice, ride the awesome and protective and ignore the scary.” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless… does he do scary shit to you?”

I decided to quit sharing and start lying. “No.”

Her smile came back. “Right on. Tell him he needs to come and take you to lunch. Give me a head’s up. That way, I can amass all the girls up front to give him a once-over and when you get back, we’ll deliver our verdict.”

Unfortunately, my mouth decided to start sharing again so it said, “He’s sheer, raw, aggressive masculine beauty from head-to-toe.”

She blinked. Then she smiled big again.

Then she announced, “I am not surprised. And now, knowing that, his behind better be here soon so you better get on that since I’m walking out, passing this juicy morsel around therefore peer pressure is about to go extreme.”

Me and my big mouth.

Beth dumped some papers in my in tray with a farewell of, “Later, gorgeous.”

Then she hurried out to share the juicy morsel I volunteered very, very stupidly.

I stared at the papers thinking that filing was getting old. It was boring. It was mindless. And it was never ending.

Then I thought about how nice it would be to live without the constant possible disquiet of running into Dick somewhere in the building and then having to find a way politely to get the heck out of his presence.

Then I wondered how Knight’s “boy” would convince Dick to go.

Then I decided not to think about it.

After I did that, I wondered about myself that I wouldn’t think about it when I knew I should. And not only that, I should wonder about a man who could and would do the stuff Knight clearly had no problem doing.

Then someone else came in and dumped a bunch of stuff in my in tray so I quit thinking about all of that since I had to get to work.

After work, I successfully made it to my apartment without a run-in with Dick. This didn’t happen often. Not even regularly since Dick was dedicated to whatever creepy shit he did in his apartment and less dedicated to creeping out his neighbors by lurking in the halls or creeping out the general population of Denver by joining their numbers. But still, I counted myself lucky and again buried the urge to turn over in my head the fact that my new boyfriend was going to remove him from my life. How he was going to do that. How that was morally probably not okay. And the fact my new boyfriend was clearly my new boyfriend and he hadn’t even kissed me.

All these thoughts flew from my head after I locked all three (two new) locks on my door and wandered into my apartment looking for the “shit” Charlie put in there that Knight’s boy delivered.

Then I froze as I got abreast to my couch and saw the plethora of glossy bags on it.

Incidentally, my couch was awesome. It was flower print, girlie but it was a cool print and since it was the only thing in the room that was flowery, it worked (even though the rest was pretty girlie). As usual, I bought it on sale and since it had a small rip in one of the cushions, the price was seriously reduced. But I just flipped it over and, voila! Perfect couch.

And right then, it was even more perfect when I saw the names on the bags that were on my couch.

My shoulder slumped, so deep, my bag fell right to the floor. Then I hustled to the couch, dropped my keys on my vintage, oval, white, awesomely chipped, quirky coffee table (that yes, was totally girlie) I bought for three dollars at a yard sale and reached into the first bag.

I pulled out an expertly tissue wrapped parcel, carefully tore the tissue away and shook out a black dress, it’s fabric so far away from polyester or any synthetic fiber it was… not… funny.

It felt like what I thought heaven would feel like.

When I held it up I saw it looked like what an angel would wear too, if she had her own personal Italian designer, showed serious skin, wore black and not white and had whopping, mega style.

Holding it to me, I smoothed it down my front as I felt my nose start to sting.

I’d never seen anything so exquisite, touched it, held it and certainly never, ever owned it.

Then I carefully laid it out across the back of the couch and went back to the bag.

Dress two, a metallic platinum. Sublime.

Dress three, red. Flawless. Awe-inspiring.

After smoothing the red out on the couch, I went to the next bag.

Shoes. Three pairs. All high heels. All sandals. One pair black. One platinum. One red. The prices on the labels on the sides were not torn off or marked out and the least expensive pair was seven hundred and fifty dollars.

My heart, beating hard, started racing.

Next bag, three exquisite evening clutches. Red sequins. Black jet beads. Champagne satin.

Next bag, this one smaller, a bunch of little boxes. One, a collection of thin bangles, all set with tiny red beads. Another, earrings that matched the bangles, long threads of red beads mixed with long threads of thin silver links. Another, a twisting choker of strings and strings of jet beads. Another, matching earrings that were a burst of the same. Another, a wide bracelet with an intricate, heavy, complicated clasp that was part of the adornment off of which were strung dozens upon dozens of tangled champagne, seed pearls. The last, earrings of the same, so long, when I held them up to my ear, they brushed my shoulders.

And finally, at the bottom of the dress bag, a business card sized card with Knight’s black slashes, ordering:

A, Saturday, pick one. K

Pick one.

Pick one.

Nose still stinging, I stared at my couch and coffee table over which was strewn a cornucopia of feminine delights as delivered by my awesome, protective, scary new boyfriend who hadn’t even kissed me yet.

Then, stiltedly, I walked to my purse on the floor, bent, grabbed it and equally stiltedly walked back to my couch as I dug out my phone. Once my fingers curled around my extortionately expensive phone, I dumped my cheap (but cute) purse next to the expensive new “shit” Knight had delivered to me. Then I bent my head and hit buttons.

Then I put the phone to my ear.

Knight’s smooth, deep voice said in my ear, “Sebring, leave a message.”

And the message I left was a soft, trembling, “Honey, you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Then, feeling stupid, scared, elated, mystified and anxious not only that this felt so good, often times right, many times terrifying, sometimes confusing but also anxious that he’d given me so much, no matter what it was, that I wouldn’t live up to the promise he saw in me, I beeped the button to disconnect and stared at my booty.

Then I sucked in breath and carefully, reverently put my stash away in my bedroom before I made a quick sandwich, ate it and set up for my client at my cute, chipped, white-painted, quirky dinette that a friend gave me when she moved in with her man and he declared he would not sit his ass at that dinette.

I was riding an elephant. It was white, its trunk up and trumpeting.

I was in my new red dress, shoes and bangles and I was giggling.

And somewhere my cell phone was ringing.

My eyes opened and I saw dark. I heard my cell stop ringing and I blinked at my alarm clock.

It was twelve thirteen.

Then I heard the call up buzzer sound in my living room.

What on earth?

I threw back my new, down comforter with its subtle, soft, flowery pattern (okay, so I had more flowers but they were in another room so that was acceptable). Part sleepy, definitely groggy I dashed in my baby blue with tiny pink polka dots drawstring, pajama short-shorts and my baby pink shelf bra camisole into the living room.

I flipped on the overhead light, grabbed the phone off the wall by the side of the door and muttered, “’Lo.”

“Anya, babe, been out here five fuckin’ minutes. You gotta sleep like the dead. Buzz me up.”

My breath left me.

Knight.

I blinked. Then I shook myself and depressed the button that buzzed him up.

I heard the door outside open through the receiver then nothing.

I put the phone back in its cradle and stared at it.

He hadn’t called after my client. He hadn’t called between clients. He hadn’t called at all, not even after I left a message. This was disappointing and a little scary. But I got to sleep telling myself when my day ended, his started so I had to get over it because clearly his demonstration that day was not about game playing.

And now it was after midnight and he was here.

Here.

Right now.

Taking the elevator (maybe).

And I had bed head, no makeup and was in my pajamas.

Oh God!

Panic instantly froze me as a million thoughts coursed through my head. None of which I had time to do anything about like changing, swiping on mascara, brushing my hair and/or teeth or spritzing with perfume and I knew this because there was a knock at the door.

I shifted to it since I was standing at it, looked through the peephole and saw Knight’s handsome head tipped down staring at what I figured was my doorknob.

Suit, dark again, this time a shirt the exact color of his eyes.

God, God, he was beautiful.

Another knock. Impatient.

I jumped, unlocked the deadbolt, the twist lock on the knob and slid off and dropped the chain. Then I put my hand to the knob to turn it but it was turning in my hand already.

I jumped back when the door opened and Knight surged through.

I looked up at his face, seeing instant and extreme intensity and whispered, “Honey, is everything oh –?”

I got no further. This was because his hands were cupping my jaws and pulling me firmly up until I was on my toes at the same time his head was descending.

Then his mouth slammed down on mine.

I made a noise at the back of my throat, lifted my hands and curled my fingers into the lapel of his jacket.

His tongue darted out against my lips.

My mouth opened and it swept inside.

Oh my, he tasted good.

I whimpered, held his lapels tight as my legs got weak and my body swayed into him.

His tongue plundered my mouth and there was no other word for it. That was it, plundered. And he did this delicious activity in a kiss that was very wet, very hard, very long, very demanding and very, very amazing.

So much so, I whimpered into his mouth, one hand detaching from his lapel to slide up swiftly, around the warm, sleek skin of his neck and into the soft, thick mess of his hair. I pressed my torso deep into his as best as I could, still holding onto his jacket with his hands at my jaw.

And I gave myself to the kiss. To Knight. All of me cupped in his hands. All of me plundered by his talented tongue.

He tore his mouth from mine and I made a mew of protest because I didn’t want to lose it. It had become the reason for my being. It was existence. At the same time my fingers spasmed in his hair and I pushed even closer in a nonverbal effort to share this message.

I felt his warm breath on my lips, it was coming fast and my eyes slowly opened to look into Knight’s dark, hungry ones.

“Now I’ve kissed you, babe, feel better?” he asked, his voice rough and so… fucking… beautiful.

I wanted to laugh because it was funny. It was also sweet.

But I couldn’t.

I could only hold on and breathe, “Yes.”

His eyes moved over my face and darkened, that intensity corresponding with the intensity of the wetness gathering between my legs and he asked, “Like the dresses?”

“Yes,” I repeated breathily.

“Good,” he whispered then, still in a whisper, “Gotta get back, babe.”

I blinked and my hand spasmed in his hair again.

“What?”

“Work, Anya. I got shit to do. Didn’t have time, took it to get your gratitude now I gotta get back.”

I didn’t move, held on and held his eyes.

He let me for a long happy moment before muttering, “My baby doesn’t want me to leave.”

No. I didn’t.

I didn’t share that. I let my body do the talking and it did this by continuing to hold on and not move.

“Told you, baby,” he said softly, “when I took your mouth, we’d need time so I could give it attention. Your sweet message, couldn’t wait so I didn’t. But, fuckin’ sucks, now, I gotta go.”

He’d taken time out to come all the way to me.

God.

God.

I liked that.

And he needed to go.

So I pushed away, my hand sliding out of his hair as I whispered, “Okay, honey.”

The thumbs of his hands, still at my jaw, swept my cheeks. Then he leaned in, slid his nose along mine then lifted up as he pulled my face down and kissed my forehead.

Then he tipped my face to him again.

“Later, baby.”

“Later, Knight.”

His fingers gave my face a gentle squeeze then he let me go and he was gone.

I followed him, locked the locks, turned off the light, turned my back to the door and stared into my dark living room.

Then I wrapped my arms around my middle and smiled.

Huge.