Knight: A Club Alias Novel

by KD Robichaux

  The neighborhood itself is lovely, full of huge trees with lots of acreage between the houses. There isn’t any grassy lawn space, so it feels like an entire community of homes scattered throughout the woods. I absolutely love it.

  I pull in behind his truck and hop out. I’ll grab my bags later, too anxious to see Brian. The house is gorgeous, and so very him. It’s all dark wood, stone, and glass. The home is split in two with one room connecting the two parts. I can see into the left structure, because the front is entirely made of windows. It’s a one-story space with high ceilings made of raw wooden beams. The stone chimney snuggles up to the right of it, and I can’t wait to see what it looks like from the inside. The right half of the home is two stories, with an adorable porch on the bottom and a balcony to die for on the top. The right half of the house is much taller than the left, allowing the second floor to have the same vaulted ceilings as the left. Another chimney is butted up to this structure, and it makes me wonder which rooms those fireplaces are attached to.

  Going to the front door, which has to be eight feet tall, I admire the dark wood framed by two huge windows. I barely have time to peek into the center one-story foyer before the door swings open, and there he is. The most beautiful man I’ve ever had the pleasure to be in the presence of. And I’m lucky enough to call him my best friend.

  “Can I help you?” he asks, keeping a straight face.

  I play along. “I seemed to have lost my way in the woods. I’m sorry to bother you, but I think I heard something lurking behind me, and I’m afraid it might be a big, bad wolf.” I widen my eyes and jut my bottom lip out in a pout.

  He smirks. “Well come inside, little one. I’ll keep you safe.”

  I smile and step up to him, standing on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck, and his long, muscular arms immediately curl around my lower back to lift me higher against him. I breathe him in, realizing the woodsy scent I’ve always smelled on him wasn’t artificial and from a bottle. No, it’s the smell of his home. And just as I feared, it makes me fall in love with the place instantly.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs into my hair.

  My body goes completely lax against him, and I let him hold me up. “Missed you more,” I confide, not blowing off the seriousness of his tone, because I’ve really… like really missed him this past month. No matter how busy I was with photography gigs and editing and everything else going on in my day-to-day life, he was never gone from my thoughts. I could never concentrate fully on what I was doing, because there he was, always whispering across my mind, the memories of all the time we spent together on his missions taunting me with their happiness.

  He slowly lets me down, and then I quickly kick off my sandals, shaking off the heavy mood and doing a twirl in front of him as I grin up into his handsome face. “Show me around, big guy. This place is amazing!”

  He looks almost relieved before his face splits into a wide grin as he takes my hand, leading me left toward the one-story side. Everything is all open, flowing seamlessly. The kitchen is one long line of marble, stainless steel appliances, and cabinetry along the wall, with an island of matching marble that stretches the same length, and as I look to the left, in front of the windows I had seen from the driveway, is the dining area and fireplace.

  When my eyes twinkle up into his, he points up, and I let my head fall back to take in the swoon-worthy ceiling. The beams are even more breathtaking from directly beneath them, the height of the space astounding.

  “You definitely found a place tall enough for you, big guy,” I remark with a smile.

  He chuckles. “Yeah, it was number one on my list of must-haves. The previous owner was a seven-foot-tall basketball player for the Tar Heels.”

  I laugh. “Fitting.”

  Next, he leads me to the other side of the home, which I see is the living area. It’s filled with huge overstuffed couches and chairs with ottomans, and I let go of his hand to go to the fireplace. It’s astonishing in all its stone and wooden mantel glory. If my camera weren’t out in the car, I’d definitely snap a picture of it to drool over later.

  I turn toward the set of stairs, admiring the banister that matches the same black metal holding the wooden beams of the ceiling in place, loving the way everything coordinates so flawlessly, as I make my way to the bottom step. I glance over my shoulder when I don’t hear Brian’s footsteps behind me, and I smirk when I see he’s frozen in place, watching my ass as I walk away.

  “Ya coming?” I ask, shaking my head with a giggle.

  “Trying not to,” he replies, and I glance down to see the outline of his thick cock through his jeans. God, it never gets old knowing how easily I affect him. “You just had to go with your sexy rocker girl look today, didn’t you?”

  “Um, three-hour car ride. You know good and well that translates to a three-hour concert featuring yours truly. Plus, the leggings and band tee are super comfy for driving.” I shrug. I may be tone-deaf, but there’s nothing I love more than singing to the radio at the top of my lungs. And it makes Brian laugh every time I ride with him, which makes it even better.

  It’s his turn to shake his head. “It should be illegal for an ass like that to go walking around in leggings,” he says, finally making his way over to me and giving my right ass cheek a firm squeeze.

  I swat at his hand, turning to trot up the stairs. At the landing, I see there are four doors up here. Opening the first door, I peek inside and see it’s a bedroom. It’s cozy but impersonal, none of Brian’s clothes and things around the room, so I assume it’s a guest room. I close it and move to the next, which is a beautiful but empty bathroom.

  “You don’t have company often, I take it?” My voice echoes in the hollow space, which doesn’t even have towels to absorb my words.

  “My parents come every once in a while. But if any of the guys come over, they normally just use the half-bath downstairs off the living room,” he explains.

  I nod, closing the door and moving to the next, which is a linen closet. It’s stacked neatly with giant bath sheets, which I know he prefers over regular towels because of his larger-than-life frame. On the bottom shelf are extra sets of sheets, and I lift a brow, thinking to myself, We’ll probably need those later.

  Coming to the last door, which is far off from the rest, it’s already open, as if inviting me inside. And the view takes my breath away. The back wall, which is actually the front of the house, is all glass, but it must be tinted, as the bedroom is lit and all I see is the reflection of the room with the faint outline of trees through the windows. The vaulted ceilings are just like the ones down in the kitchen and dining area, but it’s the massive California king-size bed in the center that makes my heart sing. Framed by an ornately carved post in each corner, the bed is covered in the thickest, fluffiest white comforter and pillows I’ve ever seen, and it takes everything in me not to dive into them to see if they feel as heavenly as they look.

  The rest of his furniture is as fit for a king as the bed is. Instead of a dresser, he has a tall chest of drawers in the same wood and style as the bedposts. There’s a nightstand on each side of the bed, with a lamp on only the left side, which I know is Brian’s preferred side to sleep on since I’ve spent countless nights snuggled up against him. Finally, there’s a massive Armoire, its top cabinet doors open to reveal a flat-screen TV and various electronics.

  “Check out the bathroom,” Brian says, pointing toward a door off to the side.

  When I flip on the switch, I actually have to take a step back to take it all in, my body coming flush up against his front. He wraps his hand around my hip, holding me steady as I make sounds ranging from squeaks to moans at the beauty before me. Marble, tile, and countertops. A glass-enclosed shower that could fit an army. A garden tub the size of a motherfucking Jacuzzi.

  Ship. Lap. Everything.

  Well, not everything, but the walls are lined with it, looking classy and welcoming at the same time. There’s a closed door I assume
has a toilet behind it, since there’s not one in sight, and next to it is the open door to his closet, which I see is giant but mostly empty. On the outside of it, between the closet and the glass shower, is a throne. And not the kind one usually refers to when talking about a bathroom. It’s the only way I can think to describe it. The gargantuan white armchair looks like it would belong to the same king who owns the furniture out in the bedroom, and as I glance into the mirror, seeing Brian is watching my reaction in our reflection, I smile gently, knowing it does.

  This is Brian’s castle, and I couldn’t love it more.

  I sashay over to the chair, spin, and fall into its depths, letting the velvety softness surround me. “Did you pick this yourself?” I ask curiously, running my hand over the arms and dipping my fingers into the divots where the grommets pull in the upholstery.

  He watches my fingers, licking his bottom lip as I swirl them around the line of shallow holes. He clears his throat, meeting my eyes. “Uh, yeah. I, uh… I needed somewhere to sit and put on my shoes. The space was too large and looked silly with just the little stool I originally had there, so I got the biggest chair I could find.”

  “I love it,” I say simply, and you’d think I just told him I saved his puppy from drowning if the look of relief on his ruggedly handsome face was anything to go by.

  And it’s then I realize… he must’ve been worried, worried over what I would think of his home. Here I was, fretting about falling even more in love with him to the point I wouldn’t be able to leave, and my sweet Brian was obviously terrified over the thought I wouldn’t like his place. The realization makes me feel like a bitch and a queen at the same time. I hate the fact that I’m closed off enough to make him worry that anything he owned wouldn’t be absolutely perfect just because it was his. He could live in a one-room cabin with no running water, and it would be glorious just because it was his personal space. I wish I could show him how much he means to me, how much I love him, so he wouldn’t have to stress about such things. But the fact that he does stress about whether or not I’d like something means everything in the world to me. My opinion matters to him. Him. Brian Glover. In my eyes, the world’s greatest hero, since I’ve gotten to see him in action countless times. Not only that first time in Afghanistan, when he helped save his fellow soldiers, but also since he became a mercenary—a vigilante for the victims of unimaginable crimes. It astounds me just to think about such a man worrying about what I might think.

  “You gotta stop looking at me like that, lover,” comes his deep growl. “The whole rocker girl thing, dressed in all black, sitting like that in my big white chair, in my house… it’s doing something to me.” He adjusts his erection, and I lift a brow. “Just had to pick Metallica today, didn’t you?”

  I smile at that. He knows I have an obsession with graphic T-shirts, band tees being my favorite. “I was going to go with my Thirty Seconds to Mars one, but it was dirty.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t think that one would’ve had the same effect. Go with that one next time so I don’t have to take you to dinner with blue balls.”

  “Mmm… dinner,” I murmur, but my mouth is watering for a completely different reason. Dinner can wait. “Be a good host and come here.”

  He doesn’t even blink. In two strides of his impossibly long legs, he stands before me, looming over me with his eyes alight with his obedience.

  Feeling a sense of power, not only from his submission but from my position in this throne-like chair, I point to the floor at my feet. “On your knees,” I order, my heart pounding as he follows my command. The position brings us face-to-face, and I can’t help but to lean forward and kiss him tenderly. But only for a moment. I can’t get lost in the feel of his love pouring from his lips. I have to focus on bringing us both pleasure through my domination. “If my clothes are bothering you so badly, you should take them off.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, and he reaches for my waistband first, effortlessly lifting my ass from the seat to pull my leggings off in one swift move that leaves me bare from the hips down. Pausing for a moment with his hands gripping the hem of my shirt, he bites his lip then meets my eye. “Metallica or titties… Metallica or titties…” he murmurs, and I squint at him.

  “You better be joking or you’ll be taking me to dinner with more than just blue balls. I’ll slap a chastity device on your ass so fast you—”

  “Titties it is,” he cuts me off, pulling my shirt over my head and burying his face between my breasts. The swift change from the cold air to his heated touch sends a wave of goose bumps over my skin, hardening my nipples. What he’s doing with his mouth along my flesh feels so good I lay my head back against the chair, letting him have his way while I take in every sensation.

  I bury both hands in his hair, smiling at the fact that I know he’s grown it out just because I like it. Gripping the light brown strands, I guide him lower, down my stomach, allowing him to spend a moment dipping his tongue into my navel before nipping at my soft belly. I haven’t had abs in God only knows how many years, but it seems as my curves grew, so did his infatuation with my body, so I put aside any type of self-consciousness I might’ve had and embraced the fact his opinion was the only one that mattered to me.

  His big hands grip my thighs. I can feel his fingers flexing and releasing, his pleasure in the feel of me there apparent in the catch of his breath. And the knowledge that I can affect this incredible man with just the touch of my skin against his causes liquid heat to coat my pussy.

  Unwilling to hold out any longer, and knowing full well he’s allowing me to do it since there’s no way on earth I would be able to make him budge if he really didn’t want to, I push him down until—

  “Fuuuck,” he growls against my core, the vibration making me suck in a breath. “So wet.”

  I’ve been so busy the last few weeks I haven’t even used one of my solo toys, so the swipe of his tongue up my slit and around the bundle of nerves makes my legs convulse around his wide shoulders. I hold him to me, instinct taking over as my hips circle against his short beard.

  “Oh, God,” I moan, feeling the tendrils of my orgasm beginning to wrap around my center. And within seconds, as he sucks my clit between his lips, those tendrils squeeze with all their might, making me implode. My cry of pleasure echoes off the marble of the bathroom, and before the throbbing has a chance to wane, I push him back and stand on weak legs, pointing to the chair and ordering him, “Sit down.”

  When he does, I unbutton his jeans, grasp hold of them and his boxer briefs beneath, and pull them down his thighs, leaving them just below his knees as I straddle him and sink down on his rock-hard shaft. We both let out a sigh as he fills me to the brim, and with my pussy still coated in the wetness from his mouth and my desire, I begin to ride him with ease, even as he stretches me nearly to the point of pain.

  The chair is the perfect firmness that it’s little work to lift up and rock on my knees as I grip the back of his thick hair, pulling his head up from where he’s watching my breasts bounce so I can kiss him.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groans, his eyes closing in concentration as I grind against him.

  “I’m ready again, big guy. You can come when you’re there,” I allow, and his beautiful blue-green eyes open to meet mine, his brow furrowed as he clearly holds back from saying aloud what his face can’t hide—he loves the fuck out of me.

  And with that thought, I throw back my head and moan as a come, my pussy milking his cock until he grunts once, folding forward to bury his face in my neck as his orgasm hits him hard. His fingers dig into the muscles of my ass, rocking me a few more times until he finally melts back into the chair. It doesn’t feel so big with his huge muscular body filling its depths.

  I allow myself to collapse onto him, our panting breaths eventually evening out as we slowly come down from our high. I turn my face into his chest, breathing him in, and then sit up to smile into his. “Ya fed one set of lips, Bri. Time to feed the other,” I
tell him, and he lets out a bark of laughter.

  “You’re insatiable.” He shakes his head, kissing me softly before taking hold of my hips and lifting me off him.

  “Truth,” I agree, walking naked to the door I figured hid the toilet and opening it. Seeing I was right, I close myself inside and clean up, noticing he bought the wet wipes I prefer. When I come out, I look at him, my eyes soft. “Did you buy those wipes for me?”

  He shrugs. “Actually, I’ve been buying them for myself ever since I jacked some of yours when you brought them to one of the hotels we stayed at. My ass has never been so fresh.”

  I lift a brow. “Oh yeah? Should I add that to the list of things to test your limits on?”

  “Fuuuck no,” he drawls, standing and buttoning his jeans, tugging his shirt back into place. “I let you try that shit one time. Never again.” He shakes his head.

  “You gonna wash your face before we leave?” I ask, washing my hands in one of the two marble sinks in the counter.

  “Of course not. This bad boy is my flavor saver,” he says, his voice low and husky as he swipes a hand over his beard to smooth out the hairs that had been ruffled when he went down on me.

  I can only sigh, knowing damn well he’s serious. “You’re so strange.”

  “But you like it,” he says, swatting me on the ass before washing his own hands in the other sink, our eyes meeting in the mirror as he smiles.

  This feels so normal, so natural, cleaning up together in his bathroom, as if this sink is actually mine and we do this every morning before work, like a real couple.

  “So where do you feel like eating?” he asks me.

  “McDonald’s,” I reply decisively. I’m not one of those girls who can’t decide what they want to eat. When I’m hungry, it’s usually for a certain type of food, and I don’t talk myself out of it. The cravings just determine how many barre classes I do that week.