by Emerson Rose
“You’re going to be used to compliments soon. I’ll make sure of it. Every time I lay eyes on you, I feel compelled to tell you how stunningly beautiful you are. I will remind you that you’re insanely unique, incredibly talented, and so fucking impossibly sexy.”
I stare into the eyes of this amazing man who sees me in such a different light. My parents and teachers are always encouraging me to be better, work harder, and do more, but King thinks I’m perfect just the way I am, and it’s refreshing, like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I look down at my feet when I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m overwhelmed. King is so very overwhelming.
“Let’s go. I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m parked up here.” He steps out of my bubble and points up a steep hill. I’m really glad Savannah didn’t bring me heels.
Savannah. Shit, I need to call her. King looks me up and down and realizes that my legs are no match for his. He slides my purse off my shoulder and takes my bag of clothes. I watch with curiosity as he slings them over his shoulder and steps in front of me.
“Hop on.” A piggy back ride?
“What?”
“Hop on, shorty. I don’t want to be late.”
I smile and shrug before grabbing his shoulders and hoisting myself onto his broad back. I wrap my legs around his waist and laugh, reveling in being molded against his body again. Everything about him is addictive: his scent, the way his muscles flex between my legs, the fluidity of his movements, his low, masculine, commanding yet loving voice. I press my nose against his neck and tightly squeeze my legs around his waist.
“No one has given me a piggyback ride since I was six,” I say, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“Well, you’ve been neglected long enough, then, haven’t you?” He turns to steal a kiss and begins asking me questions while easily climbing the hill with me on his back.
“What kind of food do you like?”
“American,” I say, and he chuckles at my vagueness.
“What kind of American food, specifically?”
“Burgers and fries. You know, the normal stuff.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Why?” I ask, wondering what that has to do with my favorite food.
“I just want to know. I want to know everything about you.”
“Oh. Um . . . I guess teal blue, then. What’s yours?”
“Red,” he answers, stopping next to a cherry red range rover.
“This is me.”
“Red,” I repeat, nodding. The color that represents passion—very appropriate. I slide off of his back, lavishing in the feel of every chiseled muscle rubbing against the bare areas of my skin, until my toes touch the ground. I am barely chest high in these flat shoes when I look up into his dark eyes.
“Told ya, red.” He winks and presses the lock button on his key fob. The beep of the range rover unlocking echoes off the buildings around us, and he opens the passenger door for me.
“Wait just a second.” He holds up a finger and opens the back door as well. I wait obediently, with my arms hanging loosely in front of me, hands clasped together. When he has my violin and bags tucked away, he swiftly takes me around the waist and lifts me into my seat.
“Whoa.” I laugh, caught by surprise.
“It’s a big step,” he says, flashing me his superstar smile.
“You just wanted to put your hands on me.”
“Guilty as charged.” He slides his hand along the inside of my thigh, and the air is instantly charged with desire.
“You’re irresistible. I told you.” He pulls his hand away right before he reaches the aching apex between my legs. “But I really hate to be late,” he says, biting his lip and smiling as he closes the door.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and try to figure out how on earth I’m going to control my suddenly raging hormones. This is all so new and intense, like being thrown in the deep end of a swimming pool full of freezing cold water. No easing into the shallow end with a casual boyfriend or two before finding Mr. Right for me. No, I have to go and get sucked into a full-blown adult, passionate love affair on the first go around. Figures. I’ve always been an overachiever.
Just as King slides into the driver’s seat, my phone alerts me that I have a text. He looks into the back seat and passes me my purse before starting the engine. I fumble around, digging through my purse while the air conditioning first blows hot, stuffy and then brisk, arctic air against my damp skin. When I finally locate my phone, I take it out and shiver, saying a little prayer that it’s Savannah and not my mother.
“Seatbelt, Holland,” he says, looking over at me with the steering wheel turned and his blinker ticking, ready to pull out into traffic. I crank my neck to find the belt and pull it across my body, clicking it into place. The instant I’m secure, he works his way onto the busy street. I glance down at my phone and breathe a serious sigh of relief when I see Savannah’s name instead of my mama’s at the top of my message list.
I told your mama I would pick you up from rehearsal. She thinks you’re swimming at my house and grilling out with us for dinner. You’re welcome. How’s it going?
Thank God in heaven for best friends. She managed to free up my entire evening with a simple believable lie. It’s easy being bad when you’ve been nothing but good your entire life. No one suspects anything. A pang of guilt hits me when I think of the ideal relationship I have always had with my parents. Lying has never been my style, but being with King makes me want so many things that I have never imagined doing before. If telling a couple of lies is what it takes to see where this goes, I’m willing to do it.
“Everything okay?” King asks, glancing at me briefly and back to the road.
“Yeah, it’s just Savannah,” I say and text her a quick thank you with a relieved emoji and a thumbs up.
“Nice girl. I like her overzealous protectiveness.”
“Yeah, more like overprotective, but that’s all right. She loves me.”
“It’s good to have someone like that watching out for you,” he says wistfully, making me wonder if anyone has ever watched out for him. He doesn’t seem like the type who needs looking out for.
After a few minutes of driving in silence, King switches the music on, and my heart skips a beat when Antonio Vivaldi’s Concerto No. 4 fills the air around us. I love this piece of music. My heart races when I play it, and the fact that King just happens to have been listening to it is just another bit of proof that this thing between us can’t be wrong. Closing my eyes, I imagine my bow as an extension of my body, gliding across the strings. Music feels so good. It’s always been there for me, feeding my soul. Without it, I’d wither and die. King is quickly becoming very much like my music. He feels so good. He feeds my soul, and I’m starting to be afraid of what would happen if I were without him.
“Remind me to play this when I make love to you again,” King says, yanking me out of my musically induced state of bliss.
“What? Vivaldi?”
“Yes. I want to hear you scream my name at the climax of this piece.” As if his words weren’t enough to force a bright red blush up my neck, his sensual, deep, gravelly tone is. Dear God, he does things to me, things that perplex and fascinate me, mystifying things my young mind can’t begin to untangle.
“I love seeing you blush. I’ll try to behave, though.” His words are genuine, but his smile is full of mischief. He isn’t going to behave, and I love it. I squirm in my seat with a vision of King and me in his bed, sweaty and panting, with Antonio Vivaldi’s Concerto No. 4 climaxing loudly in the background.
Between Savannah saving me with her text message and King causing electrical storms between my legs, I haven’t paid attention to where we’re going, so I’m surprised when we pull into an underground parking garage in the parking lot of Ecstasy. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light in the garage, but when they do, I glance over at King.
“I’m still going to feed you—don’t worry. Your surprise is inside, though, so we have to stop here, okay?”
“Yeah, sure, of course,” I say, but I haven’t convinced myself that any of this is okay yet. What kind of surprise would be in the club anyway? His apartment . . . of course. How could I forget? Butterflies take flight in my tummy when I think of being alone in the room with King where I lost my virginity less than twenty-four hours ago.
“You’re quiet. Is everything okay?” King asks, guiding the Range Rover into a parking space between two other very fancy cars.
I don’t know if everything is okay. I don’t know how to identify the feelings I have when I’m with King.
“You’re overwhelming. In a good way, though,” I say, rushing the ‘in a good way, though’ part when his face clouds over with concern. He cuts the engine and reaches over to gently take my hand in his.
“In a good way? I don’t want to push you away, Holland. I . . . I just don’t know up from down right now.” He pauses and frowns as he lowers his eyes to our joined hands. I can see the wheels turning in his mind. When his eyes find mine again, he blinks lazily, his long, dark lashes brush against his cheeks, and he lifts one of my hands to his mouth, where his warm lips slowly press against my palm and then the pad of each of my fingertips, one by one, seductively, until I’m nearly convulsing from the shivers zinging up and down my spine. I’m lightheaded. It’s happening again. He’s overwhelming me.
“Sorry.” He’s smirking. I don’t think he’s really sorry, and that’s okay.
“I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman the rest of the night. Come on, I have to get out of this confined space so I can keep that promise.” He carefully places my hands back into my lap and I watch him exit the Rover and round the front to my side. When he helps me down I notice, to my utter disappointment, that his hands don’t linger on my hips this time. He leads me by the hand to an elevator that lifts us up two floors before it opens right into the front entrance of the club. It’s a totally different vibe without all of the people and thumping music.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” he says as he pushes through the double doors that separate the entrance from the club. Standing alone where a bouncer checked my ID last night, I notice that the glowing pink lights from the first floor of Ecstasy are now teal blue, my favorite color. The quivering lights give off the peaceful, quiet feeling of being underwater.
When King returns, he’s holding something behind his back. One corner of his mouth is turned up in a smile, and I can absolutely feel the excitement and positive energy flowing off of him—like a kid in a candy store, except I’m the candy.
“This was all on short notice, but I wanted to spoil you a little.”
“What’s behind your back?” I ask, trying to peek around him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teases, and I try again, but he quickly dodges to the left, keeping his surprise behind his back. Maybe another tactic would work better. I’ll ask nicely.
“Yes, I would. Please.”
“Well . . . since you asked nicely, I guess I’ll show you.”
I love surprises; it’s the kid in me I guess.
He doesn’t disappoint. The surprise is the most gorgeous bouquet of teal blue and white orchids I’ve ever seen.
I gasp and clasp my hands together in front of my chest. “They’re gorgeous, but how did you . . . what . . . wait, how did you do that? I just told you my favorite color a few minutes ago.”
“I have connections,” he says, raising one of his eyebrows in a high arch. He hands me the flowers, and I hold them close and breathe in their light vanilla scent.
“They’re beautiful, King. Thank you so much,” I say and step closer to stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. He doesn’t reach for me, but he also doesn’t pull away. I meant for it to be a quick thank you kiss, but sparks ignite the moment our lips connect, and I find myself pressed against his chest with my arms wrapped around his neck, flowers dangling haphazardly, panting within seconds. A moan vibrates through his chest, making me brave, and I slide my hand over his chest and down to the rock hard erection straining against his jeans.
“You’re making it impossible to be a perfect gentleman, Holland,” he murmurs against my lips.
“What if I don’t want a perfect gentleman?” I whisper.
“If you don’t want a perfect gentleman, then I guess I’m free to do this.” I inhale sharply when he slides his hands around to cup my ass. He pulls me flush against him.
“And this,” he says, grinding his hard length into my belly. He deepens the kiss with his perfect mouth, expertly searching every part of mine, tasting and nipping at my full bottom lip. One of his hands slides over my backside, learning every curve, while the other holds me securely in place at the nape of my neck, under my hair.
“But a promise is a promise, and I always keep my promises, Ms. Bennett,” he says, stepping back and literally leaving me hanging. I stumble forward a step, but as always, he steadies me.
King is a drug, and he’s made me high.
“Come on, let’s go inside.” His warm fingers take my hand to lead me on wobbly legs into the club.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. I feel King’s eyes on me, watching, waiting for my reaction. All of my attention is focused on the transformation that has taken place on the pink level of Ecstasy. All around the circular room, the walls are bathed in teal blue instead of hot pink, just like the ones in the entrance. The glass blocks that make up the bases of each bar are illuminated with the same color blue, and the small cube tables scattered throughout the bar are also lit blue from within. The most breathtaking area is a table in the center of the dance floor though. Formally set for two, it’s a small, intimate table made grandiose by a stunning chandelier that seems to be suspended in midair above it. The screen that surrounds the dance floor twinkles with a million bright stars like a night sky, instead of the honey dripping images and optical illusions from last night. The floor is covered with orchid petals that exactly match the ones in my bouquet. I inhale the light floral scent penetrating the air before I cover my mouth with my hand.
I’m trying to comprehend all of the attention to detail that has gone into making this magical night time fairytale come together so quickly, but I’m simply awestruck.
“King . . . I can’t believe you did all of this.”
“You like it then?” he asks, sounding a little unsure. How can he possibly be unsure? It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, and by far the most elaborate thing anyone’s ever done for me. I doubt any man has ever swept a woman off of her feet more thoroughly.
I turn to face him, and sure enough, insecurity is written all over his face until he sees the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. Relief spreads across his ruggedly handsome face, and the corners of his mouth turn up in the smile I am quickly starting to love.
“Like I said, it was short notice.” He shrugs now, as if he weren’t full of doubt just a second ago.
“If this is short notice, I can’t imagine what a date with a few days of preparation would be like,” I say, scanning the room again.
“Well, if all goes as planned tonight, maybe you will give me the opportunity to show you the full arsenal of my date planning capabilities.” He winks at me, and I experience swooning for the first time in my life. My body actually sways under the heavy weight of his adoration.
“Whoa there . . .” He grabs my elbow to support me, causing a sudden pulse of energy to spread across my skin. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right.” But I’m not.
“Maybe we should sit down,” he suggests, guiding me to the table with one hand on the small of my back and the other cradling my elbow.
As we walk across the dance floor, the orchid petals tickle my feet through the open toes of my borrowed sandals. Savannah’s never going to believe this. Hell, I don’t believe this. Who does something so roman
tic for a person they just met the day before? This kind of date should be reserved for a man proposing to his girlfriend or celebrating an anniversary, not a first date after a reckless drunken encounter. He’s setting the bar pretty high with all of this.
King pulls out a chair for me and guides me down onto the soft seat while handing me a glass of water.
“Here, drink this. You’re probably dehydrated. You haven’t had anything to drink all afternoon.” I drink the entire glass in one long swallow, looking up at him over the rim of the glass. He’s probably right. I’m still hung over from my first drinking experience, and I’ve been playing my fingers to the bone for hours. Not to mention the energy expended during our tryst in the rehearsal room. Who am I? How can one man influence me so significantly?
“Thanks,” I say and hand the glass back to him with a weak smile. “I think you’re right. I was thirsty.”
He places the glass on the table behind him, never taking his eyes off of me, and he reaches out with one finger to feather a trail from my cheekbone to my chin until it rests on my lips. His gaze is thoughtful as he cradles my face in his hand.
“You make things different,” he says, focusing on my mouth. I want to ask what he means by that, but if I do, he will most likely remove his hand from my face, and I don’t want that. I turn my cheek into his hand and close my eyes, breathing in the faint smell of cigar smoke and soap. His hand tenses around my jaw, tilting my lips to meet his in the most tender of kisses. King moans. Pulling away, he gives my jaw a quick, frustrated squeeze before he releases it.
“I’m going to have to keep my distance if we’re ever going to eat.”
I watch as he pulls his white upholstered chair around so he is situated at my side instead of across from me.
“That’s not keeping your distance.” I don’t know why I said that. The closer he is to me, the more content I seem to be.
“I’m still working on mastering the art of self-control, Holland. You’ll have to give me time.” He’s being playful, but I sense a bit of seriousness in his voice, and his eyes are full of desire.