Red Hot

by Niobia Bryant

  “Hello,” he barked, glancing at his clock again. It was three o’clock in the morning.

  “Uhm, hey, Quint—”

  He stiffened at the sound of Kaitlyn’s voice.

  “This is Kaitlyn.”

  No shit, Sherlock, he quipped sarcastically in his head. He remained quiet.

  “I just got home and my garbage disposal isn’t working, and I poured hot water in it and now it’s making a noise.”

  Quint sat up in bed. “Your what?” he asked.

  “Garbage disposal.”

  Quinton dropped his head into his free hand. “You do realize everyone else in this building is asleep?” he asked.

  “Humph. Not everybody! And I’m just gonna leave it at that and keep it none-of-my.”

  He frowned. “And keep it what?”

  “None-of-my . . . short for none of my business . . . but I will say that old dude is dead wrong for creeping and sneaking and freaking like a little rat.”

  Mr. Hanson.

  Again he was amazed by her ability to make him want to laugh with her and strangle her at the same time.

  “On my way up, Kaitlyn,” he said, and then hung up.

  Quint pulled on some sweatpants and a wife-beater shirt before slipping on a pair of his athletic sandals and grabbing his mini toolbox.

  “Where in the world was she out to until three in the morning? That’s what I want to know,” he muttered to himself as he left the apartment.

  The September air was chilly at night and goose bumps raced up the length of his exposed arms as he rushed up the stairs. He had just reached the second landing when he spotted Mrs. Hanson unlocking her front door, obviously home from her night shift.

  She was a medium-build woman, with a soft, pretty face and a ready smile. “Mighty late for a handyman,” she teased with a little laugh. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Wells.”

  “Night, Mrs. Hanson,” he said, hoping her work schedule kept her too busy from spreading the news that she had spotted him at Kaitlyn’s door at that time of the night.

  Most of the tenants didn’t know how to keep a secret. He was surprised the news hadn’t spread yet about her husband cheating with their married downstairs neighbor.

  Kaitlyn opened the door before he could knock and reached out to grab his wrist to pull him inside and down the hall to the kitchen.

  “See?” she said, waving her hand at the sink, which was indeed making odd gurgling noises.

  Quint first allowed himself to take in her heavy makeup around her eyes and her hair styled in spikes. She wore a gold sequined suit, featuring shorts, and its short length was just shy of proving to the world she was a female. Her legs. Her full legs went on forever, and they were made all the more a sight to see in her skyscraper heels.

  “You’re quite bright tonight,” he commented, slightly sarcastic, even as the sight of her made his heart pound in his chest. Hard. Fast. Undeniable.

  Kaitlyn struck a pose. “I had to go all out. My friends threw me one helluva good-bye party. I danced all night. My legs hurt.”

  As he bent down to open the door to the cabinet under the sink, his eyes inadvertently shifted to take in her legs as she stood over him.

  “Good-bye party? You should have invited me. That’s one party I wanna be at.”

  “Well, tough, because I’m not going anywhere. They just think I am. Unfortunately, I’m stuck in this . . .”

  Quint leaned back to look up at her.

  Kaitlyn gave him the fakest of smiles. “Well . . . this wonderful establishment you run,” she said, obviously exaggerating.

  “This ‘wonderful establishment’ you’re tearing up,” he popped back, leaning forward to use his wrench to undo the trap on the kitchen plumbing.

  “Whateva, Quin-ton,” she said, stressing the syllables of his name.

  “So where do your friends think you’re going?” he asked, his voice echoing under the sink.

  “Italy for school . . . but I don’t want to talk about that.”

  He shrugged.

  “Why do you hate me?” she asked.

  Quint leaned back from under the counter and jumped back a bit to find her squatting down next to him. His eyes dropped down to her womanhood pressed against the seat of her shorts and between the backs of her full thighs.

  “Kaitlyn, yo, you taking my picture,” he said, averting his eyes as he felt desire for her flame up.

  And that made him feel like a pervert.

  And then that made him edgy and annoyed.

  “Huh?”

  “That means I can see your money shot. Stop sitting like that,” he snapped.

  She laughed. “There is nothing bad luck about any of that,” Kaitlyn told him before she rose to her feet.

  Quint finished loosening the trap and then rose to brush past her and empty the grease and bits of food into the garbage can outside her back door. She quietly watched him as he replaced the trap and then ran steaming hot water down the drain.

  “You have any bleach?” he asked. “I mean, you do know how to wash clothes, right?”

  When she never answered, he looked over at her and she was just standing there staring at him.

  “The bleach.”

  “Do you have sex on the regular?” she asked suddenly. “You’re very angry and abrupt, like a horny teenage boy with lots of built-up . . . frustration.”

  “Oh really?” he asked, turning to face her.

  “Oh, most definitely,” she assured him.

  “So I look like the type of man can’t get no play?” he asked cockily.

  Kaitlyn applauded. “There’s the cockiness that’s been underlying all your bs from the jump street.”

  “Not cocky . . . confident. There’s a difference,” Quint told her as that energy they created during their sparring session rose up like sudden thunder in the skies. It felt familiar to him.

  “Please don’t let the fawning of women not used to good-looking men mess your head up,” she shot back. “I’ve seen plenty as fine as you, and I have turned down better-looking.”

  Quint let his eyes leisurely roam her body. “You seem to be really focused on these looks,” he said, rubbing his large hands against his smooth cheeks as he lifted his chin and posed for her.

  “Humph. Negro, please. Not nearly as much as you are boo’ed up on yourself obviously,” Kaitlyn said scathingly.

  Quinton used his left hand to raise the hem of his T-shirt to expose his chiseled abdomen. “Go ahead. Rub it. See what a real man feels like.”

  Kaitlyn kept her eyes locked on him. “If only I was as interested in touching you as you are used to touching yourself. Which brings us—what!—back to my original point of you being horny and frustrated.”

  Quint literally bit his mouth to keep from saying: “Let me show you how good my dick game is.”

  Or: “I promise you, I got just what you need to shut you the hell up.”

  Or: “I’ll have you crying for Jesus, with no Bible involved.”

  Kaitlyn arched her brows and eyes at him, silently asking, “What?”

  He did a five count. “The bleach?” he asked again. Some unnamed energy still crackled in the air around them.

  Kaitlyn’s eyes filled with triumph, and she looked smug as she turned to the small pantry in the corner to take out a bottle of bleach to set on the counter.

  Quint snatched it up and poured a good portion down the drain to help cut the grease and buildup.

  “Humph. If you scared, say you scared,” she taunted.

  He capped the bottle and set it on the counter before turning to face her. “Scared of what?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I’m just saying in general. If you scared, it’s no biggie, Quin-ton.” She dragged out his name once more.

  He took a step closer to her and it literally felt to him like the energy intensified. “What’s there to be scared of?”

  Kaitlyn licked her lips as her mouth parted a bit.

  He wondered if she f
elt it too, because she released a small breath through her pursed lips.

  “You talk a good game, Kaitlyn, but I see right through you,” he told her, taking another step forward. It was as if he were made of metal and she were the magnet.

  “Oh really? Do tell.”

  Quint raised his hand and traced his finger along the deep vee created by her blazer. And just as he thought, her skin was smooth and silky.

  When she shivered and gasped slightly, Quint had to fight the urge to ease his hand inside the blazer and trace a finger gently along her nipple to see her shiver again.

  “I think you’re so concerned about me being horny and frustrated because you are. Them rich boys don’t know how to handle it. You too much woman for them. But me? I’ll tear that ass up, and you know it, and you want it. Don’t you?” he asked as he lowered his head to hers, inch by inch, until his breath fanned out against her face. He triumphantly watched her eyes glaze over.

  Kaitlyn felt pure pressure surround them. She was breathless and light-headed as she looked up at the movement of Quint’s lips as he spoke to her. Her nipples were hard and throbbing, rubbing against the silk lining of her sequined blazer as her chest visibly rose from her labored breathing.

  When his lips were less than an inch above hers, she had to cling to the wall for support. Just then, Quint asked her in a soft whisper made to wreck any woman with the same power as D’Angelo’s “Untitled (How Does It Feel)” video: “You want this dick, don’t you?”

  Kaitlyn had to bite her tongue from getting caught in the electric moment and whispering back “yes” as his finger again eased along the soft curves of her exposed cleavage.

  The air seemed to crackle like lightning around them. She could smell the last remnants of his cologne or his soap or maybe just his natural scent. She was helplessly sandwiched between the pressure of his body and the wall.

  In honesty she didn’t know how this moment came to be, with her sharing such an intimate space with Quint at three in the morning. One more step up from either of them and their bodies would collide.

  Mingle. Merge. Blend.

  He was a fine man; of that, she couldn’t deny. But somehow the line had been crossed, and she was completely lost in this world. Nothing made sense. Nothing added up. But everything in that moment felt right.

  Alive. Vibrant. Energetic.

  Does he feel it too? she wondered as her eyes dipped to watch him lightly lick his lips.

  Or is this a ploy for me to reveal myself?

  Kaitlyn locked her eyes with his as she brought her hands up in the thin space between them. She took him up on his earlier offer to touch his rigid abdomen. As she trailed her finger in the deep grooves, she enjoyed feeling his muscles clench from her stroke.

  “Say you want me, Quinton,” she whispered up to him, raising her chin just enough to place a soft, barely felt kiss next to his mouth.

  One of her hands had shifted up, pressing her palm against his heart. She felt it pounding and wondered if the same life pulsed in his dick.

  “Is it hard?” she asked, moving her hand from his abdomen to slide it along the length of his dick, which ran down his thigh.

  Quint stepped back from her. “You really shouldn’t be feeling up men in your apartment this time of night,” he said, turning to grab his toolbox.

  Kaitlyn just shook her head. “The tables got turned and somebody couldn’t take it,” she quipped, pushing up off the wall to follow him leisurely to the door. “If you scared, say you scared.”

  Quint stopped.

  Kaitlyn pulled up and stopped too.

  Quint looked at her.

  Kaitlyn placed her hands behind her back and looked up at him innocently, even as her pulse raced.

  He opened his mouth, but then he closed it. He shook his head before turning and walking to the door.

  “Don’t dream about it,” she called out behind him.

  He turned again.

  Her eyes stroked the contours of his face as she smiled smugly.

  “You’re really a Miss Know-It-All, huh?” Quint asked.

  Kaitlyn shrugged. “I know men. I know you.”

  He nodded. “Too bad you didn’t know that your sink doesn’t have a garbage disposal.”

  Kaitlyn frowned.

  “And next time you clog your sink, you’re paying to have it fixed,” he said, with a brief mocking salute before he walked out her door.

  No garbage disposal? Is that possible?

  “Where am I living, and why is this my life?” she said in a light wail as she locked the front door and turned off the lights. She then made her way to her bedroom and kicked off her shoes at the door. They landed on the floor with heavy thuds, which she hoped disturbed Quint.

  Quinton Wells.

  As she flipped the switch to illuminate her bedroom, she thought about just how hot that kitchen got when they were all up in each other’s face and space.

  “Whoooo,” she said, fanning her neck and then between her thighs playfully.

  “Quinton, Quinton. Umph. You surprised me,” she said, undressing everything on her body. “Mama kitchen never got that hot when she had both ovens and every burner on the stove going,” she continued saying aloud.

  Kaitlyn made her way into the bathroom to use several wipes to clean the makeup from her face and then brushed her teeth. She didn’t know if Quint’s little stunt was real or just to prove a point because she taunted him. However, she couldn’t lie that everything she felt in those heated moments had been real. Surprising and real.

  Over the last couple of weeks since she moved in, Kaitlyn had struggled a bit in adjusting to her new lifestyle. The apartment managers at her old apartment had been almost like concierges of a five-star hotel. The residents’ wishes were their commands. Things were different at No Name Commons—that’s what she called it in her head.

  And yes, she knew she called on Quinton quite a bit, but wasn’t that his job?

  And so she saw him frequently, but usually they were so busy throwing low blows at each other that she never considered that he could actually turn her on. And he had.

  “You too much woman for them. But me? I’ll tear that ass up, and you know it, and you want it. Don’t you?”

  With him giving her all that sexy vibe—and standing just a quarter of an inch from pressing their bodies together—for a moment Kaitlyn had widely considered ripping her blazer open and thrusting her lace-covered breasts to the sky as she roared, “Yes!”

  But that was just for a moment—one crazy, fleeting moment—until she got her mind right.

  And once she took the lead and gave him just as much sexy, he backed off, which led her to believe he hadn’t meant it. He didn’t really want it. She figured the next day his behind would be just as rude and insolent and barely tolerant as before toward her.

  But for a moment he had her, and good.

  He could’ve gotten her right there against the wall . . . or on the counter . . . or on the floor. . . .

  Kaitlyn did a little shiver before she wrapped her hair with a silk scarf and took a quick shower to wash off the scent of liquor and cigarettes from the club. The feel of the hot steam and the pelting of the water from the showerhead against her body did absolutely nothing to cool the fire he unknowingly stoked.

  She dried off and climbed between her crisp cotton sheets—but not before she retrieved her little friend from the velvet bag in her nightstand. “Tonight your name is Quinton,” she joked as she turned it on and brought it to life in her hand.

  Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . .

  Kaitlyn sighed as she pushed it down beneath the covers and between her legs to vibrate against her still-throbbing clit. She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of Quint’s long and thick dick against her hand.

  She and mechanical Quinton sang into the air in unison as she moaned deeply in pleasure. “Mmmm”.

  It was well after eight o’clock when Kaitlyn finally lifted her head from her plush pillows and lo
oked out at the sun beaming through her curtains. She usually was an early riser—growing up on a ranch, where everybody beat the rooster’s crow, she realized that was a hard habit to break.

  She usually only slept in after a long night partying or a really explosive climax. She was fighting a wicked combo of both. Damn.

  She rolled over onto her back and used the remote at the foot of the bed to turn on the flat-screen television sitting on the TV stand across from the bed. She had wanted it hung on the wall and called on Quint, but he quickly told her the owner of the building wanted nothing more than tiny tacks in the wall for picture hanging.

  And that had led to another of their infamous verbal clashes.

  At least it kept things lively.

  Kaitlyn took another shower and made her way out of the apartment in jean leggings and a fitted black tee, with I’M VERY RICH, BITCH in Swarovski crystals à la reality-TV star NeNe Leakes. She stood beside the railing, trying to figure out what to do with her day.

  She looked up as Quinton came up the stairs and eyed her.

  She hated how her heart fluttered at the sight of him in long-sleeved dark blue T-shirt and jeans. Since he wasn’t in his usual khaki-and-shirt attire, she had learned over the last two weeks that he was doing manual labor around the property.

  “All dressed and nowhere to go,” he said, walking past her to the last apartment on the second level.

  “I can say the same about you,” she finally shot back.

  The thing was, he was right. She had absolutely nowhere to go.

  With her bon voyage party thrown by Tandy and Anola last night, she was supposed to be heading to Italy, which meant the days of hanging out at their cribs were over. Without her credit cards or thick cash flow, shopping was torture.

  Kaitlyn was punishing her parents, so she couldn’t even go to the ranch to ride her horse. The rest of the family was working. Her mother was babysitting her younger nephews, and Kadina was in school.

  She released a heavy breath as she eyed the traffic going by on the road beyond the trees lining the front of the property.

  Kaitlyn knew there was no way she could make it sitting up in that little apartment all day. So what was the plan? It was becoming more and more obvious that she needed one.