Wicked Knight

by Sawyer Bennett

  By being in her presence.

  Refilling my cup of coffee, I say, “I’m working from the house today.”

  “Understood, Mr. Knight,” she shoots back, giving me another smart-ass bow.

  When I glare at her, she smirks back. I make sure to turn away quickly before she sees my lips curl up, because it’s clear she knows how to manipulate me. She realizes if she’s bad, I’ll want to spank the shit out of her, which is something I did plenty of the night she was in the stocks.

  She enjoyed it, but she knows I enjoyed the fuck out of it, too.

  For a moment, I consider fucking her now, but that does breach the boundaries we’ve set. Besides, I have more control over myself than that, no matter how much I lust after her.

  ♦

  It’s a relief when I’m able to get lost in work for a while. Back-to-back phone conferences helped, then I spent a glorious hour responding to emails. In that time, I didn’t think about Hannah once.

  That lucky streak ends when she walks in through the open doorway of my office, carrying a carafe of coffee. One of those insulated thermos types I didn’t even known I owned. Probably something Michelle bought that had made the move with me to this apartment I’d bought after she died. I simply couldn’t stand being in our marital house, surrounded by the homemaking stamp she’d put on it.

  “Made you some fresh coffee,” Hannah says as she strolls right up to my desk and sets it down. No cream or sugar, but then again, she watched me pour a cup of black earlier in the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  When Hannah smiles, it causes my pulse to skitter. Jesus, that a woman’s smile can cause a physical reaction is disconcerting.

  I turn my gaze back to my computer screen, but my entire body tenses when Hannah asks in a somewhat tight tone, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  My head snaps her way, and I narrow my eyes. “What?”

  She nods toward my desk, right to the picture of Michelle. It was taken before we got married. I think we were in New York City for some function or other. It was a candid shot out on the streets. Smiling, she appeared radiantly happy.

  Except now I have to wonder if Michelle ever truly was happy.

  “She was my wife,” I reply curtly, clearly implying I’m unamused over her curiosity into my personal life.

  “Oh,” she says with confusion. “Was?”

  “She’s dead,” I state flatly.

  “Oh my God,” she exclaims, but then claps a hand over her mouth. When she removes it, the sympathy in her voice is unbearable to me. “I am so sorry.”

  My voice is flat in return. “Why? You didn’t know her.”

  If she’s taken aback by my rudeness, she doesn’t show it. Her expression stays sorrowful, and her words make me feel like I’m touching a live electrical wire. “I’m sorry because it must have caused you pain.”

  There’s a tiny part of me that’s sorry for what I’m about to do. She doesn’t deserve to feel the brunt of my rage, but it is indeed rage I’m overwhelmed by. Anger and fury at Michelle for doing what she did, with equal parts directed at me for not being able to save her. And there’s even a tiny bit directed at Hannah for bringing this shit up.

  My inability to control these feelings is something I’ve struggled with over the years. The only thing I can do in moments like this is reassert my control of the situation. It’s the only way to overcome feelings of vulnerability, which I detest.

  I let my gaze slide nonchalantly back to my computer screen, but I lace my voice with pure steel. “I want you at The Wicked Horse this Saturday evening. There’s a special event I want you to attend with me.”

  I’m being truthful. Jerico is unveiling a new sex machine he had specially made, and I’m more than anxious to see it. Can’t wait to put Hannah on one of the specialty toys in the club.

  “Sorry,” she demurs with her hands now gently clasped in front of her. “But I can’t work on the weekends. I told you that.”

  “You can have Friday off in Saturday’s place,” I tell her with a magnanimous nod of my head.

  “No,” she replies firmly. “I need Saturday and Sunday off. That was our deal.”

  “I’m changing the deal.” My chin tilts up, and I give her a cold smile. “I’ve paid you a lot of money already, and I’m quite confident you’re making more than you ever have before for far less hours. Are you really going to give that up?”

  I expect her to drop her gaze, hunch her shoulders, and submit to me. Instead, she raises her chin higher than mine. “Yes. I’ll regretfully have to give it up. I can’t be available to you on the weekends. It’s just not possible, so if you have to fire me for it, I understand.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I growl as I push up from my chair to press clenched fists into my desktop. She’s thwarting my efforts at taking back control. “What could be so goddamn important you’d give up this type of money for so little effort on your part?”

  Hannah’s golden-brown eyes darken as if they’re filled with malevolent shadows. As she leans across my desk to get in my face, she snarls right back at me as. “I think my effort at my job is stupendous—or at least the way you call my name out when you come seems to indicate it is. But your money will never be as important as my freedom on the weekends.”

  The gritty determination in her tone gives me pause, making me curious. “What exactly is so important about your weekends?”

  “I spend them with my daughter.”

  I jerk back, stunned by this revelation. “Daughter?”

  She ignores my request for a clarification. Instead, she coldly says, “I busted my ass at three jobs so I could make enough money to hire an attorney to fight for custody of my daughter. So while the money you pay me to do this is incredibly important, I’ll go back to working three jobs before I’ll give up my weekends with my kid.”

  Well, shit. That knocks the wind out of my sails. I’d never ask her to give that up. I might be a douche a lot of the time, but I do still have a moral compass.

  “Why don’t you have custody?” I ask. Well, more like demand.

  Hannah grimaces. “Because the judge was a golfing buddy of my ex-husband’s, and I didn’t have the means to hire a very good attorney to represent me when we split.”

  Rage hits me again, except this time it’s all for Hannah’s ex. I feel an overwhelming desire to hunt this man down and beat the shit out of him.

  The judge, too.

  Pushing those insanely inappropriate protective feelings aside, I stand once again and grab my phone from the desk. “You can add my office to your regular schedule of cleaning. I’m going to work the rest of the day at my office.”

  No sense in keeping her out of here. She’s seen Michelle’s picture, which was really the only private thing in this space.

  I don’t feel the need to let her know I’m capitulating on the weekend demands, feeling she’s smart enough to understand that since I just opened my personal office up to her cleaning schedule.

  As I walk past her to exit, she asks, “Do you need me at the club tonight?”

  Fuck, I need her right now, but I shake my head, determined to put some distance back between us. Giving into my needs means giving up control. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Yes, I need distance. It will help me get over the fact I feel like a fool for demanding time with her this weekend, just so I could win a battle with her. I feel like a fucking fool, of course, because she won that battle fair and square.

  CHAPTER 12

  Hannah

  Nothing can stop my hand from shaking as I unlock the door to Asher’s apartment this morning. It’s not because I’m still unsure of my job standing, especially after our showdown yesterday. I stood my ground on the need for free weekends, and he respected it after I explained it was because of my daughter.

  Thus, I am confident I still have a job.

  The reason I’m shaking is because I wonder what type of job I now have. It’s clear he still wants
me to clean for him, but I have no clue if he still wants me.

  Why this is bothering me is slightly perplexing, and I’ve tried to break it down into something cognizable.

  Asher did not want me last night. He knew he could have me at his whim and leisure, yet he declined. It could be that he doesn’t want me like that anymore, but perhaps still feels bound to keep me on the payroll. In fact, it even makes sense he didn’t want me at the club with him last night because he intended to avail himself of the multitude of women there who would drop to their knees for him. I’ve seen them before, and I’ve tried to ignore their hateful glares that I was with him and they were not.

  The part that’s causing me a whole lot of grief and uncertainty is that I seem to be feeling a little unwanted. While I don’t have any aspirations of having Asher’s affections, I think I’ve gotten way too used to having his physical attentions. In just a brief period, he has me looking at sex in a completely different way.

  Hell, he has me wanting sex like I’ve never wanted it before.

  I’m slightly ashamed that I’ve come to like this part of my job so much, since I still have a slight disgust in myself that I might as well be a paid whore, but I push that aside. In the end, whether I enjoy what Asher does to me or not, he is paying me very well and that will help me get Hope back.

  I guess that’s all that matters, so I need to be grateful for this opportunity and leave the sex out of it.

  The apartment is quiet like it normally is, and I’m slightly disappointed Asher’s not coming out of his office to surprise me. With a sigh, I close the door and put down the pot I’d carried in on the marble stand in the foyer. It’s blue ceramic and holds yellow mums.

  It’s a pathetic attempt to replace the Chihuly, which was done in blues and golds. While there’s obvious disparity in the value of the two items, I think his apartment is sad in its stark colors of black and white. The Chihuly was the only real color around, and I wonder why he bought it. It’s so out of character with his monochromatic tastes.

  I put my purse and keys on the foyer table before heading into the kitchen. It takes me all of ten minutes to wipe down the already-pristine granite countertops and wash Asher’s morning coffee cup. I grab the dust rag and polish, heading back to the master suite.

  Just as I’m crossing the threshold, Asher strolls out of the master bath with a thick white towel around his hips and his glossy black hair wet from the shower. Add in his contoured muscles and honey-gold skin, and it’s all I can do not to sigh in satisfaction.

  Ignoring the slight watering in my mouth, I exclaim, “Oh, God… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were still here.”

  I even avert my eyes; otherwise, I’d be overtly ogling his half-naked body.

  Asher chuckles with dark amusement. Before I can react, his wet towel is smacking me in the chest.

  I grab at it, my head popping up. He’s grinning, totally relaxed in his nudity.

  “Why so shy, Hannah?” His voice is sexy. Taunting, even. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

  I can’t help myself. Taking that as tacit permission, I let my gaze run all over his well-built physique. I even stare at his cock, which is impressive in length and girth even when at rest.

  When I slowly make my way back up, I find his eyes on me with an intensity that makes my legs go weak. The air between us seems to crackle, and the hair on my arms stands on ends.

  “Take your clothes off,” he orders gruffly.

  My gaze drops back down, and I see his cock lengthening. A cramp clutches my pussy, and I don’t hesitate.

  I obey him at once. He smiles with dark satisfaction as I pull my t-shirt up over my head, tossing it carelessly to the ground.

  My bra is barely off and falling from my fingertips before he’s taking long strides across the room. He falls to his knees before me, then jerks at the button on my jeans. His movements are harsh, his breathing erratic. He gets the zipper down, roughly pulling at the denim until it’s past my hips.

  Asher pushes his face into my crotch, his breath hot through the cotton of my plain white panties. I feel like I could come from just the heat of his mouth. He tongues at me through the material and it joins the wetness that soaked the material when I first gazed on his naked body.

  “This isn’t part of our deal,” I manage to gasp even as my fingers slide into his hair and grip hard to hold him to me.

  He chuckles, the vibration hitting my clit before he looks up at me. “It’s not against our deal either.”

  “True,” I gasp as he stands up, lifting me easily in his arms.

  The room spins, and he drops me to the mattress. More rough grabs and pulls as he disrobes me, starting with socks and shoes and ending up with my panties tossed over his shoulder to the floor.

  Then his hands are in my armpits and he’s lifting me, throwing me higher up the bed. He follows, crawls like a sleek cat right up my body, his eyes locked onto mine the entire time.

  As his mouth comes down onto mine, his hand goes in between my legs. I’m slightly embarrassed at how easy his fingers slide into me.

  “Asher,” I murmur against his tongue.

  When he lifts his head, I get a feral flash of teeth. “I like my name on your lips. Always so needy sounding.”

  His fingers are gone, but I don’t feel the loss because he’s sliding his thick cock into me. God, it feels so damn good. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  Is it bad I don’t want to feel anything but this ever again?

  Asher kisses me again and starts to move, producing groans of pleasure from us.

  We’ve never had sex on a mattress before, and the intimacy of being in his bedroom has a profound affect. My body quickens in a way I’ve not felt before, and he’s barely a few thrusts in before an orgasm starts to tremble.

  Does Asher feel it, too? Can he feel me starting to tighten, or maybe it’s the way my fingers are digging into his shoulders?

  He feels something because he starts to fuck me harder. He stops kissing me only to hover over my face, once again locking his eyes to mine.

  Jaw tight, lower lip pressed between straight teeth, he fucks me with the expression on his face as well as his cock. He’s totally consumed by me. Knows that fans my fire.

  I explode unexpectedly, crying out as my back arches.

  “Yes,” he says in triumph, starting to pound even harder. Holding tight, I wrap my quavering legs around him and lock them at the ankles. I let him ride me hard. Every thrust extends my orgasm, until he goes deep, then still, and suddenly starts to unload inside of me. He shudders hard, lets out a deep groan of release, and rocks against me a few times until he collapses.

  I get a short squeeze of his arms around me before he’s pulling out and rolling off the bed. I gasp when he grabs an ankle, then pulls me across the mattress until I’m forced to stand beside him. He retrieves my panties and kneels before me, using the tip of his finger to slide through the semen starting to run down the inside of one thigh. I watch in fascination when his lips curl upward in satisfaction as he helps me step into my panties.

  Asher slides them gently up my legs, standing along the way and arranging them into place at my hipbones.

  He then cups between my legs, pressing the heel of his hand into the wet warmth there.

  Tilting his head, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t you dare clean this up. I want your panties wet with me while you’re working. Want you thinking about this all day.”

  My breath rushes out in an audible whoosh. I want to flop back down on the bed. Want to ask him to fuck me again.

  Asher grins, winks, and then turns toward his closet. He casually tosses over his shoulder, “I’ll pick you up at ten tonight.”

  A jolt of excitement courses through me that he’s going to take me back to The Wicked Horse.

  It reveals something very primal about me that I’d been suspecting but was too afraid to admit.

  I crave going to that sex club very much, and I’m done apologizing
for it.

  While Asher dresses, I scramble into my clothes and hasten back out to the living room. I decide to start my dusting there as I’ve found that some distance between me and his magnetism helps just a fraction.

  I’ve moved into the dining room, which is just an open area off the kitchen. I’m cleaning the glass table when Asher walks through. He glances at me but doesn’t say a word, silently making his way to the foyer.

  I watch him from the corner of my eye. When he sees the mums sitting on the pedestal, he comes to an abrupt stop. I hastily drop my attention to the glass table, pretending complete absorption in my work, but I can feel his stare on me heavy and almost accusing.

  I expect him to say something. Anything. He could just as well thank me as rail at me for buying him something.

  He says nothing, though. It’s only when I hear the door open and close again that I relax a little. Bringing my gaze back to the mums, which are completely undisturbed, I wonder what is going through his head right now.

  Does he appreciate my efforts, or does he think I’m an idiot? Perhaps they piss him off, a reminder of the expensive piece of art I so clumsily broke.

  Regardless, I like them, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my face. The flowers definitely help to brighten up the place a bit.

  CHAPTER 13

  Asher

  Things have changed, and I have to roll with it. The downside to me fucking Hannah in my bed on Tuesday is that now I’ve given myself license to fuck her whenever I want. Or is that an upside?

  At any rate, I’m lucky that whenever I want seems to coincide nicely with her wants. At least, she hasn’t yet told me ‘no’ the way I’ve given her permission to do so.

  All this week, I’ve been waiting for her when she walks in my apartment. I strike before she barely gets the door closed. We’ve christened various rooms and pieces of furniture with all kinds of dirty deeds.

  I’ve never fucked a woman in this apartment before. Never brought one here at all, because I don’t do romantic dinners or movie nights. After Michelle died, The Wicked Horse was where I went to get my kicks. What threatens to fuck with my head if I think about it too much is the fact I let Hannah into my space in a personal way, and I did it without any thought. On Tuesday, I saw her in my room and pounced.