Knight: The Wordsmiths Book One

by Harlan, Christopher

  “It’s never a bother,” I answer, feeling terrible that she thinks of herself as some kind of burden. “Never. You hear me?”

  “Yeah.” She nods. “I know, but still. You left a little distant and preoccupied. I mean, I know why, all that shit with the book.”

  “It’s no excuse,” I jump in. “I love that you’re giving me an out, but I own my shit. There’s no good reason—not the book thing, not getting back into my normal routine, nothing—that should have kept me from you. All I’ve wanted to do is be by your side since I got back.”

  “So then, why not call sooner? I felt like you weren’t interested anymore and didn’t know how to let me down, or something. I wasn’t sure.”

  Fuck. I feel really terrible when she says that. I’ve been so caught up in my own bullshit that I haven’t done a good job making her understand how much she already means to me, and how much I want to keep getting to know her. “No. Hell no.” I grab her by the chin and angle her face up so that our eyes are locked together. “Never, do you understand. I apologize. I couldn’t want you around more than I already do. Okay?”

  She smiles and we kiss again. “Okay. I believe you. After all, how many guys will invite you over and cook for you? I guess you must be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m not cooking for you.”

  “Huh?” She asks.

  I said it that way on purpose, I know that it’ll take her off guard. As she’s looking at me puzzled I smile. “I’d be happy to cook for you anytime. But tonight, we’re cooking together. You and me.”

  “Really? I’m a terrible cook, I have to warn you.”

  “I’ll teach you a few things.”

  “I’m sure you will.” She’s looking at me seductively, like that look she gave me the last time we were in a room together. I’ve missed that look. The one that can bring me to my knees. It’s a rare thing to have a woman who can make you think about getting married and having a life together, and also make you want to bend her over a table every time you see her. It sounds like the two things would always go together but in my experience they often don’t. Everleigh has both qualities. She’s the the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on—someone whose eyes make me see into my own future, and I can hear the footsteps of babies running around our house. She’s also the sexiest creature ever, and a few shifts of her weight as she walks makes my dick so hard that I can barely contain myself.

  “So,” she says. “When do we start?”

  “Right now. We’re making filet mignon.”

  I take her into the kitchen where I have all of my stations set up. It’s less romantic if we have to do any prep work, so I took care of all that before she rang my bell, leaving nothing but fun for us. “So what do I do first?”

  “Come over here.”

  I motion for her to stand next to me. Once she’s at my side by the counter I take a step back and position myself so I’m behind her. The roundness of her ass is just touching my cock, enough to tease and make me a little hard, but not enough to distract me too much from getting through some of the cooking. “First,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “You have to heat the pan. Cast iron, always.”

  “Why?”

  “It conducts heat more evenly, and gets hotter than any other type. It’s just a matter of letting the fire do it’s work and getting a slow burn going.”

  “I see.” She lets me guide her, and I turn on the gas stove to high. The sounds of ignition sparks are followed by a large orange and blue flame that dances in circles underneath the bottom of the coal black pan, getting it nice and hot. “Now what?”

  “Patience,” I whisper in her ear. “Now we wait for it to get hot enough.” I press into her ever so slightly, not enough to be too sexual, but enough to let her know that I’m talking about more than just steak. She responds, pressing her ass into me with just enough push to get me going a second time. I’m behind her, and she turns her head in my direction.

  “How do we know?” she asks.

  “Like this.” I reach over and turn the faucet on low. The cold water drips over my hands for a few seconds, and when it’s time I position my dripping skin over the cast iron pan. A single droplet of water falls, hitting the metal and splitting into a million little hissing pieces, until it dissipates entirely. “Now it’s ready. But first. . .” The steaks are sitting next to me on a plate, coming to room temperate. If you put the meat on too cold it’ll seize up and toughen, but if you let it warm slowly before heating it’ll caramelize and cook perfectly when the warmth of the pan radiates through it. “First we have to get them ready.”

  “I see,” she says softly. “And how do we do that?”

  “Filet is delicate. It’s slender, and it needs to just be appreciated for what it is. You can’t dress it up with too much seasoning. You’ll get the most out of it if you just appreciate it’s subtle beauty. A little olive oil, salt and pepper, and you’re done. Let it speak for itself.”

  She reaches over and grabs the bottle of olive oil I have sitting next to the stove. “Like this?” She starts to drizzle some over the top of both steaks. The stream hits the center and pours off the side, bathing the steak in its wetness.

  “Perfect. But you have to make sure it’s even. Like this.” This time I put my hand over hers, and guide it to the meat that’s waiting, warm and dripping on the counter. She keeps her fingers wide and lets me direct her hand. I put it squarely on top of the steak, which is almost at room temperature. I squeeze her just a little bit and she starts to massage the steak with her fingers, digging them in and rubbing the oil over the entire surface. “You’re good at this.”

  “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

  “No,” I say, laughing at her joke on the inside but staying serious on the outside. “Just you. You’re a natural.” After she’s rubbed it enough I let go of her hand and she asks me what to do next. “I’ve got this part,” I tell her.

  I step in front of her and take care of the seasoning. Salt, pepper, and nothing else. I take out a pat of butter and let it melt before placing the steak in the pan to the sound of sizzling as the caramelization forms on the bottom. As that’s sizzling I step behind her again. I wrap my arm around her waist and lean my head into her neck to give her a kiss. She turns her head up to me and our mouths meet. Her lips are soft, gentle, and she smells incredible. I have an expensive piece of steak on the stove and vegetable roasting in the oven, but all my nose lets in is how great her hair smells. “I think your steak might be burning.”

  “Nah,” I whisper in her ear. “It can sit there for at least two minutes. It’s forming a nice crust. Don’t worry, I won’t let it burn.”

  A few minutes later the food is done and I’m turned on as all hell. I haven’t seen her in a long time and having her close to me again is making me hard. All I want to do is rip her clothes off, but I have to wait and it’s driving me nuts. I am excited to be having dinner with her, though. I miss sitting and talking to her as much as I miss being with her physically. I take the steak off and let it rest a minute while I get everything else ready. I made garlic mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and now the steak that’s cooked perfectly. I plate everything and we go sit in my dining room.

  I bought a really expensive bottle of wine for tonight at the store next to the grocery in town and I break it open. “Here.” I put the plate and the glass of wine in front of her and then serve myself. She swishes the glass around and breathes in deeply.

  “Everything smells wonderful,” she says. “This was a much better idea than going out to a restaurant. I really enjoyed cooking with you.”

  “Me, too. We should do it more often.”

  “That’s up to you.” That stings a little. The tone of her voice is a little less sultry and sweet than it just was, and I realize that I may have fucked up a lot by waiting so long to contact her again.

  “I’m sorry, again. Listen, unless you don’t want to see me anymore there will never be a time when I’ll go this many weeks
without seeing you, okay? You have my word on that.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise, and I don’t break promises.”

  “Oh, come on, everyone’s broken a few promises here and there. There must be some.”

  “Never. Not once. Not ever. And I never will.” She thinks I’m joking or that I’m exaggerating. Everyone does when I tell them my promise thing. They basically have the same reaction that she’s having, which is to project their own behavior onto me, but keeping promises is like a religion to me. If I say that I’ll do something and give my word, then it’s gospel.

  “That’s a rare thing, Michael. You might be one of a kind.”

  We finish our dinner. Everything tastes amazing, if I do say so myself, but more than the food it’s the company that I’m enjoying. When we’re together our conversation flows seamlessly, like we were meant to talk to one another. She understands all of the difficulties I have as an author—all of my fears, my worries for the future, my concern that I’m never going to amount to anything but another hack romance author. Even though she’s never written a word down herself, she listens closely to everything I’m saying, and gives me such focused attention that it’s intoxicating. Her eyes rarely look away when I’m speaking, and I return the favor for everything she’s telling me.

  “It’s the last thing I want to bring up, but how’s all that drama that was causing you some distress back at the signing?”

  “Better,” she says. It’s the first time she looks away from me, staring at her plate and pushing the last few carrots and onions around with her fork. “Better, thanks for asking.” I don’t push any further than that. The topic of her ex seems to push all of her buttons, but then again, it does the same thing to me. I let that line of questioning go.

  “How’s it coming?”

  “The book?”

  “No, the cure for MS. Yeah, the book, silly.”

  “I can’t believe that I’m going to say these words, but it’s going really well. I keep writing more and more each night and I’ve been going on these crazy three hour runs, where my fingers never stop banging the keyboard.”

  “Holy shit, that’s amazing!” She jumps up from her seat and gives me the biggest hug ever. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “This is going to sound corny as all hell, but it’s because of you. If I didn’t meet you I’d still be crawling my way through some bullshit novel that probably would have been terrible by the time it went to print.”

  “I appreciate that,” she says. “But this is all you, do you understand? I’m glad I inspire you, but it takes a lot more than some inspiration to write a book, or a lot of books at that. Do I get to know the title?”

  “No way.”

  “Oh, come on! I inspired it, how can you not tell me the title?”

  “If there is anything you need to know about me as a man and a writer its these two things: I never break my promises, and I never reveal the title of a new book until I’m finished with it. And neither of those things are going to change.”

  “You suck,” she jokes. “But I understand. It’s fine, keep me waiting, it’ll just build up my anticipation.”

  “That’s my plan. But I think it’ll be worth it.”

  “I know it will,” she answers. “And even more than the title, I look forward to reading whatever it is that I inspired.”

  “You will, trust me. You’ll be the first to read it when it’s finished. I have an ending in mind, but I need to edit and finish a few parts first. I was thinking of doing that later on tonight, actually.”

  “If I have anything to say about it,” she begins, “you’ll be pretty occupied most of the night.” She leans over and kisses me again, only this time there’s more passion in her kiss—a promise of something more to come. While we’re kissing my heart races and my dick gets rock hard. I can sense the urgency in her as she wastes no time running her hand up my thigh and smothering my cock. She starts moving it, massaging in small circles, her grip tightening as she does. It feels amazing.

  Her sense of urgency gets mine going. We haven’t seen each other in a while, and I’ve wanted her ever since that day I left her hotel room in a panic. It kills me that it’s been so long, but we’re going to make up for it right now.

  Her pussy is magical. Crack. A thing I need my cock to live inside of. Before Jenny I was with my fair share of women. Don't get it twisted, I wasn't anywhere near approaching fuckboy levels of action, but I also wasn't exactly unpopular with the ladies. But I've never felt anything like Everleigh's pussy before. It's small, tight, and feels like something that I was meant to fuck, as though my cock were a key, fitting perfectly inside her wetness.

  Every time I slammed into her the first time I went deeper—deeper than I've ever gone with a woman before. Her wetness just let me in without any effort, and when I felt my tip break through, I thought I was going to come right then and there. Thank God I didn't, because then I wouldn't have felt what fucking her could really be like.

  I lift her up and carry her up the stairs. She’s as light as air in my strong arms, and I’m turned on before I even hit the top step. I stumble, distracted by how beautiful she looks, and fall forward slightly. I don’t drop her, but she looks at me and tells me to put her down. She sits on the third to last step and turns around, lifting up her dress. She’s not wearing any underwear, and as she points her perfectly round ass towards me I stare and rip my pants off. Her little pink pussy is staring back at me, waiting like a prize between her legs, if only I can get my clothes off fast enough.

  She’s on all fours, looking back at me with a look in her eyes that’s begging me to slip inside. I reach down and tickle the outside of her pussy with my middle finger, warming it up for what’s about to come. She starts to moan as I hit her clit, rubbing in smooth, strong circles again and again. After a few seconds I reach with my hands and spread her legs open, and she lifts her ass up. I don’t waste any more time with foreplay. I slide right into her, my knees on the step below her and my arm balancing on the bannister to my right. I start fucking her furiously, her pussy clamped around my cock as I thrust in and out of her. I’m moving her whole body, and the slap of my hips and balls against her ass is ringing through the hallway.

  “Fuck me harder, Michael!” she cries out. I start to go faster, and each time I hit against her I push a little deeper inside, lingering there for a minute so she can feel the whole length of my manhood filling her up. The last time I hold the position, not moving at all, and I grip her hair with my left hand. When I pull back I pull her hair with me, and her body arches as her head leans back. I start hitting her pussy again, faster and harder while I hold her body in place by her hair. I let go of the bannister and her hair, grabbing both of her shoulders with my hands while I fuck her. I’m pulling her body back as I thrust my hips forward, and the sound is turning me on.

  I take my hand and put it on her face, letting my fingers dance close to her mouth. That’s all it takes. She knows what to do. She opens up and starts sucking my finger. The feeling of suction is turning me on even more, and she takes my whole finger in her mouth as I lay waste to her soaking wet cunt. That feeling is driving me nuts. I stop what I’m doing and pull out as she turns herself around. She knows what I want, and I know what she wants.

  I take one step up so that I’m over her body. Grabbing my cock I inch it towards her already open mouth. I slide right inside and let go, and she starts applying that hot, wet suction to my shaft, the saliva from her mouth dripping out the sides and hitting the step. I move my hips forward and back slightly, fucking her face. She moves with me, taking every inch of me all the way down to her throat until she’s gagging. I pull out and pick her up so that we can finish in the bedroom.

  I throw her on the bed—literally. She bounces for a second and then I climb over her, inserting myself right where I belong. I sit back and grab both of her heels and rest them on my shoulders. I’m on my knees, holding onto her legs, and I start thrusting
every inch of my rock hard cock into her, over and over again. She reaches down and starts rubbing her clit in hard, fast circles. A few minutes later we’re both close. She’s rubbing herself furiously as I fuck her, and the sight of her beautiful tits bouncing around is enough to make me come. “I’m almost there,” she pants. “Don’t stop, Michael. Fuck me harder.”

  “I’m not stopping.”

  I keep going until her whole body lifts up toward me, and the feeling of her pussy clamping down on me gets me there fast. I hold off as long as I can, and when I see that her body relaxes I reach down and pull myself out, shooting my hot cum all over her. “Oh fuck.” I scream as I watch my cum hit her sweaty, white skin. When I’m done I lean over and kiss her. We’re both breathing like we’ve been deprived of air for minutes, and as our lungs fill up again, I feel more satisfied than I ever have after sex. It’s not just physical. It’s mental and emotional. I’m falling for this woman, harder than I ever thought I would.

  24

  Everleigh

  I wake up to the smell of Michael, only it’s not Michael himself, but his pillow I’m smelling. I open my eyes and see that I’ve stretched diagonally across the bed, my head still on his pillow, and my naked body carving the shape of the bed into two triangles. It’s morning, I know that much, but I’m not sure exactly where Michael is.

  I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I slept like the dead. Last night was amazing and I was pretty tired out by the time I finally lost consciousness. I don’t remember if I dreamed, but I usually don’t remember my dreams. What I do know is that I feel more rested than I have in a long time. I have that euphoric, post-amazing-sex feeling going on. Our date was everything that I’d hoped it would be. Is there anything sexier than a man who can cook?

  But the best part was after the meal. He’s such a great lover—attentive, compassionate, and rough when I want him to be. I think he almost pulled my hair right out of my head! I could sit here forever just waiting for him to come back, but I need to get my lazy butt up, literally. From inside the bedroom I can hear the clicking of a keyboard. I put on my shirt from last night and leave the bedroom.