Knight: The Wordsmiths Book One

by Harlan, Christopher

  Down the stairs and to the right is Michael’s living room, and as I turned the corner I see his profile, hunched a little bit over and hitting the keyboard of his laptop as quickly as he can. He must be finishing the book. I don’t interrupt him. I stand at a distance, admiring a master artist at work, as if I were watching Picasso paint a picture. He doesn’t notice me at all because he’s so focused, and his fingers are dancing along the keyboard seamlessly, without any pause whatsoever.

  I turn around and go back upstairs to take a shower. I grab some towels from his linen closet and make my way to his bathroom while he finishes. Maybe when I come out he’ll be done. Twenty minutes later I’m toweling off and letting a cloud of steam out into Michael’s upstairs hallway. I listen closely and don’t hear the sounds of a keyboard any more, so I get dressed as fast as I can and head down the steps. Michael’s still in the living room, only he’s not writing any more. I peek around the same corner and see him sitting back and staring at the open laptop in front of him. He has a smile on his face, and the happiness in him is reaching me even from across the room. This time he sees me standing there.

  “Good morning,” he says, catching me creeping just around the corner. “Did I wake you up?”

  “I was already up. I hope you don’t mind I took a shower when I heard you down here writing.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. And yeah, I’m sorry I was finally getting to this last part I’ve been wanting to write.”

  “Don’t apologize, I’m so happy for you. It was a great sound to hear first thing in the morning. So when is it coming out?” I ask.

  “Well, if I factor in the time for my edits, sending it to my actual editor, getting it formatted, and then having advanced readers get a look at it, I’d say probably two months or so.”

  “I can’t wait. Do I get to be one of the advanced readers?”

  “Nope,” he says, looking at me with a devious grin. “It’ll be a surprise.”

  “I hate surprises,” I tell him. “I’m too impatient for them. I need instant gratification, okay?”

  “Well I guess you’re going to have to practice some self control then, huh?”

  “If you weren’t so good looking I think I’d slap you.”

  “Lucky me, then.”

  “So when is the book ready? Signed, sealed, delivered?”

  “I’ll have early copies printed after editing in a week or so, but the wide release is going to be timed for the week of the signing.”

  “RAAC?”

  “You know it.”

  RAAC stands for the Romance Authors of America Conference, and it’s easily one of the biggest signings of the year. It’s held annually at a different location around the country. I’ve only been once but it was a real experience. It’s usually held at a giant convention center, and there are literally a few hundred authors and several thousand readers and fans that attend. When I went I came home with 75 signed books and Harley had over 100. It was insane. “You got a table?”

  “I think we’re going to get one,” he tells me.

  “You and the guys?”

  “Yeah, I think it would really help give us a push. It’s still a few months away so I think we can swing a table. I wasn’t going to ask you this until later on, but how would you feel about assisting me at the table?”

  “Like, be your PA?” I ask.

  “No, not as my PA.”

  “As what then?”

  “How about as my girlfriend, Everleigh? How does that sound?”

  He says that so confidently and so smoothly, as though it’s always been my title. We haven’t seen each other that much, I know, and usually titles like that have certain timeframes and behaviors associated with them. We haven’t really ‘gone out’ on any dates, or curled up on a couch watching Netflix. He hasn’t met my family and I haven’t met his. Hell, I haven’t even properly been introduced to his friends and fellow writers as anything yet, but I guess in some ways all of that is just extra. I feel strongly towards Michael, and I think we could really be something.

  “As your girlfriend. I love that.”

  We kiss, and my whole body starts to tingle. “Is it weird that I asked you to be my girlfriend? Was that too high school of me?”

  “I thought it was really sweet, and I’d be honored. But there is one thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “Your career. No one really knows about us except Harley and Rowan, and they’re obviously not going to say anything, but I have a lot of friends and people I’ve come to know pretty well in the book world. People are going to gossip about this, I’m telling you. I don’t want to hurt your career. Maybe we should stay a secret?”

  It kills me to even ask that when he made himself so vulnerable just now by asking me to be with him, but what I’m saying is true. The book world is a collection of some of the most caring, giving, and wonderful people I’ve ever encountered. But, like with any large group of people, it can also be a place of gossip, pettiness, rumors, and hate. Things like this won’t get posted publicly, but people will talk about it. Michael Knight is banging a reader? Is she with him just to get free books? Those are the kinds of things that will be whispered in private messages and at conferences.

  He thinks about what I say after I say it. His mood doesn’t change, he’s still really happy and even relieved that he finished, but I can tell that he’s weighing the pros and cons of what I just brought up in his mind. “I see what you’re saying,” he begins. “And I know how petty some people can be.” He stops his speech and turns his body towards mine so that we’re facing each other rather than sitting next to one another, and he continues. “But those people exist everywhere and we can’t live our lives around them. If my experiences from the past few years have taught me anything, it’s that you can’t make decisions and base your emotional health on others’ perceptions or actions. It’s not a good way to live.”

  His words touch me, but I still have some reservations. “I know what you’re saying, and I agree, but regardless those people do exist, and they’re not just like some co-worker or distant family member who you can ignore and never have to see and just go on living your life as you want to. These are readers, bloggers, publishing company owners and employees. Basically they’re the people who can impact your career, for the positive or the negative.”

  “That’s true,” he answers. “But you know who else are readers, bloggers, and publishing company owners? Good people. Good people who are in this business for all the right reasons, and aren’t concerned with the personal lives of writers. They may have an opinion, sure, or, to be honest, they may have no idea who either of us are. This could all be over exaggerated.”

  “Yeah, but. . .”

  “No,” he says, cutting me off. It surprises me a little but it’s the way he does it that makes me stop and pause rather than try to speak over him. He’s never quite spoken to me that way, and in this case I can tell that he needs to tell me something important. “Listen, we don’t have to debate this. I see your points. I see all your points, and they’re good ones. I’m not disagreeing with you. What I’m telling you is that we’re talking about my life and my career, and I’m not willing to compromise either because of some social media trolls. Even if that means a few less book sales, or a few days of whispers behind the scenes. I’m not going to lose out on someone great just so some yentas can feel better about me. Do you understand?”

  He takes my hand in his and holds it gently. I do understand, I understand completely, but what I understand even more than his words are the meaning and emotion behind them. He really cares for me. Most ambitious writers—hell, most ambitious people in any field will put their career first, especially when they’re trying to grow it into something big. But Michael’s different. He has all the ambition and drive in the world, which are two things I find painfully attractive in him. But he’s also caring, sweet, and he wants whatever our relationship is going to be to be given a chance to grow, just l
ike his career. I realize in that moment that he’s not going to cast me aside, or treat our last few meetings as some meaningless hookups that helped him write some book. He really wants a relationship with me.

  “I understand,” I tell him. “More than you know. In that case, Michael Knight, I’d love to assist you at the signing—as your girlfriend, or whatever else you need me to be.”

  “That’s great, because it wouldn’t be right for you not to be a part of it. It just wouldn’t.”

  I lean in and kiss him, and as soon as I hear him moan a little I swing my left leg over and straddle him. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers and a tee shirt, so as soon as I sit down I feel his hardness hitting me in just the right spot. I’m not usually so aggressive, but I grab onto his shirt with my fist and bunch it up like I’m controlling him. My hair is falling around his face as I kiss him, and he lets me do whatever I feel like doing.

  We kiss for a few more seconds before I decide to stop teasing him. His dick is even harder now and I can feel it poking me. I’m wearing a loose skirt and no underwear, so I let go of his shirt and reach my hand into the front slit of his underwear and wrap my hand around that monster. I squeeze, hard, and move my hand up and down a few times. I don’t feel like foreplay and neither does he. This man, this hot, beautiful man who I’ve admired for years just asked me to be his girlfriend, and I’m not just happy, I’m fucking turned on! I want him bad, and I’m going to have him right here and right now.

  I take his cock and place the head right on the outside of my pussy. I’m already as wet as I’ve ever been, I can feel it. As soon as I position him he grabs onto my hips and thrusts upwards. He slides right in, and I gasp as I feel it go into me. He’s huge and thick, and when he thrusts deep into me, hands on my hips, I just lean forward and start to ride him. My hands rest on the top of the couch in front of me, and Michael starts pumping me from the bottom with all of his might. He’s fucking me so fast that I barely process how good it feels. I stop moving and let him thrust, again and again, until I feel like I’m going to scream. When he tires I take over and do all the work.

  I grab his wrists and push them against the back of the couch so that he can’t move. He’s so big and strong that he could break free of my grip at any moment that he wants to, but I know that he won’t. Instead he lets me ride. I move my hips back and forth, pressing down and feeling the girth of his cock fill me up, and fill me up it does. I know this isn’t going to take long. I keep riding and pressing, and his cock is hitting my clit perfectly, and within a few seconds I know that I’m right there. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come!” I scream. I can feel my orgasm building quickly, and before I know it my body’s convulsing, and I swear my eyes roll back in my head. It’s like every nerve ending is on fire, and I scream out, “Fuck!” as I hold still and let the pleasure take me away.

  When it’s over I don’t collapse because I know he’s not finished yet. So I take a deep breath and keep on moving. But before I can get any momentum he flips me over unexpectedly so that my back is now against the couch and he’s standing above me. He’s still inside of me, so I lie there while he slams his hips into me a few times. I must have done my job because before too long he’s also about to come. He pulls out at the last minute and sprays the outside of my wet pussy with his hot, white cum, moaning uncontrollably as he does.

  He falls over next to me, and both of us are out of breath. At the same time I feel energized. That’s a hell of a way to start a morning—a finished new novel, being asked to be a great guy’s girlfriend, and an amazing quickie.

  Things are looking up.

  25

  Knight

  “Wait, so that girl at the bar at the signing is, like, your girlfriend? What the fuck, man?”

  Sometimes I’m amazed that Colt is a writer—thank God he can be more elegant when he writes than when he speaks, but I get why he’s more than a little surprised. I would be too. I didn’t really tell them much about Everleigh, just that I was seeing someone who I met around the time of the signing, but I didn’t give them any details. It’s for her protection as much as mine, but since things are getting much more serious with us, it’s time to spill the beans.

  “Yeah, her name is Everleigh.” It feels great to say that out loud to someone, but I’m sure there are going to be some serious follow up questions.

  “You sound like you’re in high school, do you know that?” Grayson is sounding a little more judgmental than he usually does, but I guess he’s just being a good friend and putting what I’m saying to some scrutiny.

  “Yeah I heard it, too,” I say. “But I wouldn’t have said it any other way. I’m so happy, dude.”

  “I see that,” Colt says. “It’s great to see you smiling, man, it really is. I think we’re just a little taken aback. You haven’t said shit about this—not at the signing, and not even in the weeks after. Why the secrecy?”

  “We hooked up at the signing. She was a fan of my work, but more than a fan. She was touched by it. We hit it off and just got to talking. She’s really special.”

  “Sounds like it,” Gray says. “I’ve never seen you like this with a girl before. But, still, you need to be careful with fans.”

  “It’s not like that,” I tell him. “You just need you to trust me. I’m a grown man, and I’m telling you she’s not some groupie. She’s legit one of the greatest women I’ve met. She’s the reason I just finished my first book in a long time. She’s the reason I can’t stop smiling right now.”

  Colton and Grayson look at each other and grin. “Our boy is all grown up!” Leave it to your best friends to quote Vince Vaughn in Swingers just at the right time. “I guess he doesn’t need us anymore.”

  “Hey,” I tell them. “I need all the good people around me I can get. We have business to discuss.”

  This beer garden in Astoria, Queens just opened. It’s a few towns over from my place, and it’s gotten some killer reviews. I was never a beer guy before, but the boys got me into it when I was deep in my funk. It was one of those fun activities they dragged me to, only this one stuck. It was my idea to come back today, because there’s nothing like a beer with your best friends to celebrate something, and I have a lot to celebrate.

  “So we’re doing RAAC, correct?” Gray asks.

  “Yeah, I think it’s a great opportunity to build some buzz,” I tell him.

  “Agreed.” Colt waves the waitress over to order another IPA.

  “Okay, then I’ll get us a table. Then we just have to decide what we’re bringing. Where is everything with the WIP’s? And what about the anthology?”

  The waitress comes over and takes Colton’s order. Gray is also working on his second drink—a Guinness—while I’m still sipping my first. She asks me if I want anything and I wave my hand. “No, thank you, I’m still nursing this one.”

  “Bitch,” Colton jokes.

  “Don’t make me knock you out when I’m in such a good mood.”

  “I’d love to see you try,” he says back, giving me the crazy face he thinks makes him look tough. I just laugh, and so does he, then we get back to the signing talk. “My next book won’t be ready by the signing, but I’m almost done with my story for the anthology. We have three months, so if we’re all almost done that’s plenty of time to get the wheels in motion. Where’s everyone else with that?”

  “I’m in the same boat,” I answer. “But my book is done as of yesterday.”

  “Holy fuck, congrats!” Gray and Colt raise their glasses and make way too much noise. I get embarrassed, but it’s really cool how supportive they’re being. They’ve been here through all the shit of the past year, so more than anyone besides me they know how much what I just said really means.

  “Thanks, guys. And I’m on a run with my writing. I’m basically done with my part for the anthology also.”

  “I’m in the same boat,” Gray says. “I’ll have my library and the anthology. Ironic doesn’t begin to describe it, Mike, but it looks like you�
��ll be the only one with a new book at the signing.”

  “Who would’ve guessed?” Colton asks.

  Not me. Sure as hell not me. I realize that sometimes you need to get on the other side of trauma to see how fucked up you really were at the time. You lose perspective quickly when you’re hurt. Everything gets distorted—time, your own emotions, how good or bad things really are. Your entire worldview is distorted like a funhouse mirror, and it takes good friends and a great woman to see you safely to the other side of that bullshit.

  “I know, it’s crazy, man. But enough about me. I can’t wait for this anthology. If we can get it edited and formatted in time, it’ll be big. I think the women will love it.”

  “For sure,” Colton says. “Then we just have to decide on a cover. I have an idea on that if no one has any objections.”

  Colt is friends with a lot of models, and has connections in that pocket of our industry. If the indie romance world were a country, the cover models and photographers would be their own region. Despite the old adage, most people actually do judge a book by its cover, and the shots that appear on the front of our books are as important to sales as the words contained inside them—maybe more so. Ask ten different readers what they use to make a decision on what book to one-click, and most will tell you a cover that really grabs their attention. I’m fine with Colt taking the lead on it.

  “Yeah, I trust you,” I tell him. “Just show us when you find someone.”

  “I’m gonna text G. I think he just had a new shoot with Jameson.”

  The ‘G’ Colt’s referring to is Greg—Greg Olden, but we all just call him G. He’s an author himself, mostly of male/male books, and he dips his toes in many genres that aren’t just pure romance. He’s got a huge following, an amazing backlist of books, and he takes some of the best photographs in the industry. Greg owns a successful photography company, and Colton is close with him. I trust him to get us a great cover shot.”