by Poppet
His are capsules, one big fat tablet, and one of them is brown! Sitting back and sipping my coffee, I watch him, prying, “What are you taking?”
He holds up a finger to stall me, slugging the water and tabs, then sits next to me against the black leather headboard with his coffee, saying, “Testosterone boosters, BCAA's, and a full amino stack.”
I frown, clueless.
He laughs at my expression, explaining, “I make it my business to keep my body topped up and virile, so I take zinc with dinner and take the testosterone booster twice a day. I take the BCAA's three times a day, and the amino stack twice a day, because I workout a lot.”
I shake my head, “What are BCAA's?”
“Branched chain amino acids. They keep me at optimum muscle capacity, that and the amino stack ensure I never suffer from muscle fatigue or stiffness. I have other miracles in the building box but that sums it up for now.”
What?
Putting my coffee down, I sit so I face him, “Explain.”
He looks delighted, reaching out and cupping my chin, staring at me like I'm the sun in his sky. Would you fucking stop doing that!
“Okay, the bottom line is this, I've been used in tutorial videos for the church. A part of me wants to look my best, staying at my pique. You've noticed we have a home gym and you know I'm a personal trainer and physician. I understand the human body better than most and I make it a goal to stay fit, strong, and capable. To maintain and expand muscle mass I pump weights, but to stop the muscle ache from resistance training I take the amino stack and BCAA's. They feed my muscles and stop me from suffering from muscle weakness after I train.”
I nod, “Okay.”
Finishing his coffee, he holds my leg when he continues saying, “The testosterone booster keeps me lean, helping me keep my body fat ratio low, plus it helps keep my body producing healthy swimmers, and to this end I also take zinc because a man needs zinc to produce sperm.” He brushes his thumb over my thigh where his hand rests, staring at my mouth, “You should take it too, it keeps your skin in perfect condition.”
“Can women take a testosterone booster?”
He nods, ruffling his hair as if trying to rouse himself, “Yes, women need testosterone to have a healthy sexual appetite. It also helps you stay lean and fit. Both sexes can benefit from it.”
“Will you be my personal trainer too?” I ask, grasping at the idea that being fit and able bodied might help me somewhere down the line.
His smile could split atoms, “Sure, baby. I didn't think you'd be keen, but definitely. But only when you're back to normal. Right now,” and he leans close, getting intimate and personal, “my little blossom needs to rest and recuperate.”
He nuzzles my neck, kissing to my shoulder, then sits back and gets off the bed, offering me his hand, “Come join me in the shower, then we'll sort breakfast.”
I'm too sore to want to shower, but again am afraid to show weakness or reticence. Glum, I take his hand, appreciating the strength helping me stand and supporting me to the en-suite. Those tabs just strip me of stamina.
He starts the water, getting into the spacious shower and tugging me in with him, and then he lathers me with the softest touch I've ever suffered, washing and massaging my hair and scalp, his hands barely making contact when he cleans me all over, making me hold onto his shoulders when I balance on each foot while he washes the other.
It's warm, and tender, and I feel relaxed when he finishes up his own body, then he softly dabs me dry, giving me a brand new bathrobe of plump cotton, wrapping me up in it and leaving me to comb out my hair. When he went shopping online he sure got every little thing I could ever need.
Why's he being so nice? Is it because I woke him up with sex?
He's dry and ready in t-minus three seconds, sitting on the bathroom chair (quite swanky), patting his leg, “Come sit here, Blossom.”
I do as told, leaving my comb at the vanity and sitting on his leg. Tilting my head he applies teething gel to my ear piercing, then unwraps my wet arm dressing, slathering it with healing salve and teething gel, rewrapping it with gauze and surgical tape.
He pats my leg, “All good.”
I don't think, I just lean in and kiss his generous mouth, grateful and affectionate of his unsolicited thoughtfulness. Alert eyes watch me, staring at me with a strange expression, scrutinizing me as I walk to the door. “Candace.” I stop, turning back, lurching against the doorframe, waiting. “Did Matthew hurt you?”
The question is out of left field and I have anxiety instantly knot my innards, “I don't know.”
“Did I hurt you?”
I don't know how to answer without incriminating myself.
He stands, looking tense, “You saw the tape, you saw how hard he was slapping your arse, did he hurt you?”
I nod, afraid to speak.
“Are you still sore?”
I nod again because my tush aches every time I sit and I have to wriggle and lurch to get comfortable.
“I'll be gentler in future,” he states, his tone final and concluding this interrogation.
I'm dressed in soft yoga pants and one of his oversized t-shirts, at his insistence. He's worried about my sensitive skin apparently.
He gives me a protein shake like his for breakfast, and it's so heavy I feel like I've swallowed a ton of concrete. Then he takes me to the gym, explaining how to use the machines and how to change the weights by moving the peg and slotting it in higher up.
I'm interested, sitting quietly while he has his workout, him sweating and huffing, at times grunting. This explains his strength, he's pushing resistance three times my body weight.
Then he moves to the empty carpeted area, making all sorts of weird moves, punching and kicking, his arms blurring into blocks, his triple punches so fast they'd have knocked me out before I could've seen them coming, and another brain fart occurs to me.
He doesn't know his own strength, that's his problem. It's giving me perspective. He's not a bad guy, he's just too strong for my good, and he's a little nuts about the bible. Spirituality is normal to tons of folks, but I'm seeing that essentially Kenan is a good man, he's adjusting to me just as much as I'm adjusting to him. Maybe we'll find a happy medium and meet somewhere in the middle.
My meds make me loopy, giving me a state of extreme relaxation, so I know I'm useless right now, but ask anyway, “When I'm better, will you teach me?”
He's doing push-ups now, his breath broken when he stops and frowns up at me, his body gilded with sweat, “Teach you what?”
“Karate. That was karate, right?”
He stops and kneels, sitting back onto his feet and resting his hands on his thighs, the exertion still making him pant, “Yes it is karate, and to answer your question, no.”
“Why not?”
“Candace, I'm your defender. It's up to me to keep my reflexes sharp so that I can look after you. God made me bigger and stronger than you for a reason. It's my duty to protect you.”
“But why can't I also do it?”
He sighs, his mouth flatlining, “Babes, in another time and place I'd do it without hesitation, but it's forbidden here. Matthew won't allow it.”
I nod, vowing to watch him every morning, practicing when he's not here. What Matthew says goes, he's a fucking dictator.
Kenan hops out of his position, which is a rather impressive feat, strolling to me, dabbing his neck and face with his workout towel, sitting next to me on the bench and smiling, crinkling his eyes, giving me a surge of comfort, “You're looking a bit better this morning. Your swelling's going down.”
I just nod, “Yup.”
“Candy, we need to get away, just you and me. How about I blow off the ladies for a day and take you for a ride?”
“A ride? I thought we just had a ride?”
He barrels out laughter, “Oh wow, I could kiss you. No babes, I meant you and me taking to the road on my motorbike. Just the two of us. Away from here.”
Away?
An escape!
I nod emphatically, trying not to seem too delighted by the prospect. Patting my leg again, he leans against the wall at our backs, stretching out while he gets his phone out of his pocket, making calls to his appointments.
It makes me wonder what ever happened to my purse and phone. I should at least call Jan's folks to see how she's doing.
He's smiling, being congenial, finally saying his goodbyes and hanging up, so I ask him, “Where is my phone?”
“At Matt's. You left it there when you arrived.”
Shit, I do not want to go there to get my phone back.
“Can I use yours?” I ask sweetly.
“Nope, sorry darling, this is for business, not pleasure.”
“But I want to call Jan's folks and see–”
“And let the cops searching for you know exactly where you are if they triangulate the call? Are you stupid?”
“But–”
He sits bolt upright, squaring to face me with a wild look, “Blossom, I didn't want to have to tell you this but now I have to. There's a warrant out for your arrest.”
“What?” I squeak, alarmed.
He nods, his expression stone cold serious, “The second you land back in this country from the Sudan you're going to be arrested and charged for pushing drugs. Jan decided to roll on you to get herself out of the crapper.”
“Roll on me? But I didn't – I have never – how can she do that!?”
He raises both eyebrows, “Some friend you chose to shack up with. Which reminds me, you remember those boxes I wouldn't let you see, well that's because one of them contains a helmet for when we go on rides together, maybe you should keep yours on when we're out and about. I wouldn't be surprised if there's an APB out on you.”
“What's an APB?” I croak, my life spiraling away from me. There's no use escaping.
“An all points bulletin, the brass distribute your photo to all cops, including plain clothes cops, so if anyone sees you they have authority to arrest you on the spot. You're a wanted woman Blossom, and not just by me.”
“Fuck!”
He pats my leg, “Don't worry babes, no one will see through your visor. It's tinted.”
“But–”
“No buts, I just cleared my day for you, now let's go unpack your leathers, my guess is you'll look smokin' in leather.”
I'm wanted! Jan's lied and now I'm in huge trouble.
I'm afraid, my stomach acid weevils its way around my body, making me ill with nerves when he leads me to his office, unlocking it and taking down boxes, showing me the bike leathers he bought for me. It's hard to be happy and surprised by his gift when all I can think about is what Jan's done.
Why does he keep this door locked? Is it so I can't ruin his surprises? Oh my gosh, he's a closet romantic!
The helmet comes out of its box next and he makes me try it on, grinning like a mofo, “Perfect. Now that's hot.”
It's quite heavy, so I take it off and hand it back. He gathers my things, herding me out of his office and relocking the door, carrying my gear to the bedroom, depositing it on the bed and saying, “You have boots in the closet that go with this, the ones with the low heel, I just have to pop up to Matt's while you get ready. I won't be long.”
He leans down, giving me a long scorching kiss before straightening, looking happy for the first time since I've known him, and pats my tush, “Chop chop, Blossom. I'll be back in ten.”
•
Kenan:
I take the car to Matt's purely because I'm in a hurry.
Boris opens the door and I hand him the DVD, “Matthew wanted this. Tell him I'll call him later to discuss it.”
“As you wish, sir,” he sneers down his geriatric nose.
Good grief, the wally reminds me so much of Britain.
Before Matt comes to investigate I give Boris a salute and scarper, back in the Landy and home inside a minute. Grabbing my biker's jacket off the peg in the garage, I yank it on, striding to the bedroom to see her kitted out.
Halting in the doorway I watch her, grateful for the silence of my trainers, watching her hold her head, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing against her temples with significant force.
The blonde of her hair is incredible against black leather, she's dressed and outwardly not betraying stiffness of movement which would indicate her skin hurts. She bought that line about a warrant like a fuse to dynamite, now she'll be wary, cautious, wanting to be here and not out there with the sinners.
It's time to ride, to get the hell out of Dodge, to woo this chick so she knows I'm more than just a sex machine.
“Your ear hurting?” I ask softly, padding into the room.
She bolts upright like I just shot her in the shoulder, “No, I'm fine.”
“Candace, we'll have a chance at a relationship when you stop lying to please me. Truth baby, only truth, always truth.” Stopping in front of her I tilt her chin up, examining her eyes, scrutinizing her pupils, “What pleases me is you being you. I don't want you to pretend, this is our beginning, it should be glorious and candid. You should be able to tell me anything. Granted there will be times when I won't react with grace, but we need transparency sweetheart. Tell me why you looked like your head was hurting.”
She sags, sitting back on the edge of the bed, suctioned into leather and looking like a minx. God is indeed good, he gave me such a cutie.
“Um, since Matthew's I've had this raging migraine. It just doesn't want to go away.”
“It's a stress headache,” I nod, sitting next to her, my instincts urging me to get her out of here right this second. “The fresh air will help. I tell you what, why don't you go around the house and lock all the bars for me while I pull my riding jeans and boots on, then we'll get out of here and away from this environment.”
She nods, following orders, and I stay where I am until she's out of sight, watching that arse that fits perfectly in my hands sashay with her steps, black suiting her so well that I think my virginal choices for her were way off base. I never considered she could be a rebel, it sure will make the next twenty years a journey.
Snapping out of it I make haste, yanking down my track pants, shunting off my sneakers and pulling on my riding gear.
Grabbing her helmet, I close up my side of the house, pocketing the keys from the bars as I slide them closed and locked, keeping Matthew from snooping while we're out.
He's up to something, I can feel it. My sixth sense is bellowing a battle cry and I don't know why. It's making me tense.
Meeting halfway, she gives me the keys and I hand her the helmet, taking her hand and pulling her in a hurry to the garage, leaving the door into the kitchen open when I straddle the Hayabusa, getting her helmet on and making sure it's properly secured, then patting the small seat behind me, “Get on and hold tight.”
She does as told and the feel of little arms wrapped around me makes me feel like Goliath. Walking the bike, kicking up the stand, I hit the garage remote on the bike, starting my sleek machine up and gunning us out of the garage, leaving the door to close automatically while I rocket us out of prison. How dare Matthew commandeer my first night with her after she's pure, what's his fucking problem? He keeps interfering and it's pissing me the hell off.
I stop at the gate and sign out, the guards letting us through, and then I open the throttle and swallow up the deserted road, taking the Hayabusa to full capacity, revs screaming when we hit 190 mph in ten seconds. She shrieks, clinging to me now like her life depends on it. And it does Candy, it does.
•
Candace:
So it's not just a gated community, it's surrounded with walls as high as Jericho's, and despite the drive from Sodom seemingly fleeting I don't recognize the area at all. We're nowhere, just miles of nothing in every direction. They even have guards at the gate, big burly boys with guns and everything. I guess they're serious about satan having no access. He got the world and they have this little corner of it.
Kenan dip
s the bike as we take a corner and I squeeze my eyes shut at the pavement rearing up at me, squealing panic.
I feel his laughter against my body, unable to hear it with my helmet on; now I know why he wears one, he drives like a stealth bomber. It's zippy, our drive taking us past miles of wilderness, and he finally stops when we reach a stand of trees, brush, and a view that could be anywhere, but it's pretty.
He kills the engine, kicking down the stand and helping me get off the bike before putting it down to rest precariously on a stupid little piece of metal, pulling his helmet off when he dismounts, shuffling his hand over his head and ruffling his hair.
Wow, now that's an advert for Tabac right there. Tabac and leather and him all wrapped up together out in the wild, it's oh so very rugged and sexy.
He helps me undo the strap on mine, helping me get it off, him clearly doing his best to be gentle. He turns me by my shoulders, pointing me into the wind, saying, “Just stand here and inhale that clean air. Fantastic isn't it?”
Closing my eyes, I lean against him, breathing, but despite the smell of grass and dry Texan heat all I can really smell is him.
“How's your head?” he asks, folding his arms around me, hugging me across my shoulders.
“Still hurts, but this is nice.”
He takes my helmet and puts it with his on the seat of the bike, lacing his fingers through mine and leading me through long grass to the trees. He pulls me down with him, sitting with his back to a tree trunk for support, tucking me between his tented legs and just holding me, looking out at a valley of sun bleached grass and rock.
“I come here when I need space. Sometimes you just need to get away from people.” So this is a special spot for him. I feel important.
“Lean back baby, let me hold you, relax, let your worries float away on the wind, I got you, they have to go through me to get to you.”
And after his impressive workout routine that makes me feel like I have my own personal bouncer. Unzipping my jacket, letting the breeze dive down my cleavage, I rest against him, staring out at a hazy canvas.